Diamonds are a Devotchka's Best Friend
by SimoneSez
Summary: What do a formula for industrial diamonds, a secretive scientist, and Marya add up to? Some sleepless nights for Hogan.
1. Chapter 1

"Diamonds are a Devotchka's Best Friend"

 _Author's Note_ _: Indulging in a little fantasy casting, I imagined frequent guest star Noam Pitlik in the role of Gustav Holtzmann._

 **October 1943**

The tall, elegantly-dressed woman slumped against the bumper of the black Mercedes sedan, legs crossed, elbow on her knee, taking a lengthy drag on a cigarette through a long tortoiseshell holder. She didn't have to try to look bored. She _was_ bored. But at least, thanks to the long red-fox coat and matching fur hat she wore, she wasn't cold. And she wouldn't be even if it took this dullard who accompanied her all night to figure out what she already knew: there was no way he was going to be able to fix this car so they could be on their way.

She had seen to that. Personally.

"Gussie…" she drawled in her throaty Russian accent. "Gussie, darling… I've told you, it's no use. A mechanic, you are not." A lover, he was not much of one either. But that was for another conversation, at another time. Shortly before she was good and done with him would be the ideal time to enlighten him on that subject. And she was already thoroughly tired of him, so that time when his usefulness would be at an end couldn't come soon enough to suit her.

Gustav Holtzmann was certainly more at home wearing a white smock in a scrupulously clean laboratory than he was with his shirtsleeves rolled up and the upper half of his body completely inserted into the maw of the huge car as he bent over the engine that had mysteriously given out on them nearly an hour earlier. The young dark-haired man with the intense features and serious expression really had no idea what he was looking at. But he hated to admit that in front of _her._ "We must move on, Marya. It is not safe here."

"Safe? I've told you; there is a prisoner of war camp right over the hill. Fences ten feet high and machine guns they've got. Your little collection of _boobni_ will be quite safe there, I can promise you."

" _Marya!_ " Holtzmann righted himself so fast he nearly slammed his head on the underside of the hood. "How many times must I tell you?"

"Who can hear?" She rolled her eyes, something she was quite good at. "All the squirrels are German, Gussie. You can tell by the beady eyes. Loyal to Hitler, would never betray your secrets."

But would _she_? Holtzmann had asked himself that question more than once since he'd met her. Was she worth it? Not really. He was beginning to wish he was back in Berlin with his dull plain wife, not stranded out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night with this woman who couldn't seem to keep her luscious mouth shut for thirty seconds at a stretch. She had definitely managed to learn more about his research than he had intended, and he had his suspicions about that too… the morning after Marya mixed the after-dinner drinks, she seemed to know a lot more than she had known the night before. Her cigarette holder was long and sharp enough to impale someone. He sometimes wondered if it had ever been used for that purpose. Still… there was something about her that drew men to her, whether they wanted to be drawn or not. He supposed he wasn't the first to find it to be true, and he strongly suspected he wouldn't be the last.

No. He could do a lot of impressive things in a well-stocked laboratory, but he could not fix this car. He slammed the hood down in frustration. "This prison camp… how do you know of it?"

"The Kommandant and I are old friends," she assured him smoothly. "You'll like him, Gussie… Klink is a fun person."

A POW camp was the last place he wanted to spend the night, and he was hardly in the market for any new friends… still, it was beginning to sound like their best option. Holtzmann reached into the front seat of the car, extracted his leather attaché case, and slammed the door shut. The car, he cared little about. The case, he tucked firmly under his arm. "Let's hope we don't get shot on our way in. Where did you say it is?"

Marya got to her feet and gestured with her cigarette holder down the Hammelburg Road in the direction they had originally been headed. "There, just over the hill."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You seem to know this area very well, Marya."

She gave him one of those looks… the ones that unnerved him enough to miss his plain, boring wife, at least for a moment or two. "You might say that."

oo OO oo

 _The Aragon Ballroom, Chicago. One of the best tables, right next to the dance floor. Tommy Dorsey's band played_ I'm Getting Sentimental Over You.

 _Hogan, dressed to the nines in a white dinner jacket with black tie and gold cufflinks, leaned across the table for two, reaching to light the cigarette of the woman sitting across from him. It was Claudette Colbert tonight, wearing a low-cut black silk sheath that accented every curve. That made for a nice change; Ginger Rogers had turned up two nights in a row, and his feet had been killing him after their second date._

 _"Busy in here tonight," he remarked, blowing the match out for her._

 _"Is it?" Claudette gave him a smooth, flirty smile. "I only see you."_

 _The waiter arrived at their table just then, carrying a silver tray with a plate of hors d'oeuvres and two flutes of champagne that sparkled like diamonds, to replace the two empty glasses in front of them. "_ Excusez-moi, Colonel _."_

 _Oh, no. The waiter carrying the tray was wearing a red scarf and beret over his white cotton serving jacket. And that could mean only one thing._

" _Go away, LeBeau." He kissed Claudette's hand… he had big plans to make it around to the rest of her before the night was finished. "That's an order."_

 _But he was out of luck. Even as LeBeau set the fresh glass of champagne down in front of Claudette, his meaning was all too clear. "I'm sorry,_ Colonel _, but you have to wake up."_

oo OO oo

"Wake up, _Colonel._ "

This time, LeBeau's voice was for real. So, unfortunately, were the cold dingy barracks, the flashlight beam in his face, and the lumpy mattress beneath him. "You're fired…" Hogan mumbled sleepily. "Pick up your check and get outta the war…"

"I'm sorry… who was it this time?"

"Claudette Colbert… and I had to leave her with _you._ "

"I hope I don't disappoint her."

" _I_ hope you _do_." Hogan pulled himself very reluctantly to a sitting position on the top bunk. "Okay, what is it? And it better be good."

"Two people were just admitted at the front gate. They were on foot."

"At _this_ hour?" The colonel squinted at his watch, barely visible in the beam from the light LeBeau carried. "It's quarter of two… and whoever it was didn't come in a car?"

" _Non._ We thought it looked suspicious enough to let you know right away."

"Any idea who it is?"

The corporal shook his head. "They weren't in uniform; that much we could see even in the dark. More than that…" He shrugged.

"Two civilians turn up in the middle of the night unexpected and just walk right in the front gate? Did the last of the guards finally desert?"

Behind LeBeau, Carter appeared in the doorway to his quarters, his stringbean frame clad only in long underwear. "The lights just went on in Klink's office, Colonel."

"Okay, let's get some answers as long as we're up." Hogan climbed down from his bunk as Carter went to plug in the coffee pot and Kinch and Newkirk joined the party, neither of them looking particularly happy about being awakened at that hour.

"Do you have any idea of the dream you just pulled me outta?" Newkirk asked LeBeau.

"If you can't top Claudette Colbert, _tais-toi_ ," LeBeau replied.

The voice of the man emanating from the tinny speaker in their coffee pot was unfamiliar to Hogan. He didn't like that. "Y _our hospitality, Kommandant, is much appreciated._ "

Klink sounded only half-awake, at best. " _Not at all, Herr Holtzmann… my stalag is your stalag; the guest quarters are at your disposal_."

" _I will also require some assistance with my car; it is disabled a short distance down the road from the camp_."

" _Certainly, Herr Holtzmann; I'll have someone from the motor pool look at it in the morning. Well, now that that's been settled, perhaps you won't mind if I return to my quarters and…_ "

The voice of the woman who interrupted him just then was well-known to them all. " _But Klinkie, the night is still young! Let us drink to our reunion!_ "

Hogan's head dropped in disbelief. "Oh, please tell me it isn't…"

"I wish I could," Kinch replied, no fan of the eccentric Russian either.

LeBeau brightened like the entire City of Light was shining on him. "Marya! She's come back to see me!"

From Claudette Colbert to Marya in thirty seconds. This night was going downhill fast. Well, for everyone except LeBeau.

For once, Klink and Hogan were in perfect agreement, although Klink obviously had no idea that Hogan was listening in via the microphone hidden in the photograph of the Führer that hung over his desk. At the moment, the kommandant found himself reflexively pulling his dressing gown a little more snugly around himself… he didn't like the look in that woman's eyes, not at _all._ He didn't want to know what she was thinking, but he was afraid he already did.

Her companion, like all the other flies this large furry spider had dragged in behind her on past visits, appeared to be supremely indifferent to her outrageously flirtatious behavior and was instead standing at the bar cart, pouring himself a large brandy to ward off the evening chill. There was nothing unusual about that – any man accompanied by Marya would be well advised to begin drinking heavily if he were not already disposed to indulge – but what _was_ strange was that the briefcase he carried was still wedged under his arm, exactly where it had been since he'd entered Klink's office. He'd even shaken hands while holding it.

Marya advanced towards him a step, and Klink backed up two. Why hadn't he just given the guard at the front gate a resounding _no_ when he'd received the call requesting permission for them to enter, taken the phone off the hook and gone back to sleep? "Herr Holtzmann… I can't help but notice, that case must be of great importance to you. If you like I would be more than happy to keep it for you in my safe."

Holtzmann gave him an icy glare. "I suggest you try harder to keep from noticing things that are none of your business."

"Of course. Forgive me." Klink was becoming painfully aware that Marya's eyes were still focused on the area at his neck where the top button of his pajamas was unfastened, and he yanked the collar of his robe nearly tight enough to choke himself.

Back in the barracks, Hogan caught on to something that made sense. "What do you bet that whatever's in that case, she wants _us_ to see it?" He turned to Kinch. "See if you can get any intelligence on a Holtzmann."

"That isn't much to go on, Colonel."

"I know. But something tells me I'll be getting more details on him real soon."

"You figure the Russian'll make contact with you, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"Not if I can help it… but I'm betting I can't."


	2. Chapter 2

The meaning of the word 'spy' might vary slightly depending on the context, but usually it had to do with some kind of covert or secretive activity. Hogan was seeing none of that at noon roll call: on the step directly behind Klink, Marya stood waving her hand wildly as if he might possibly be able to avoid noticing her otherwise. In that voluminous fur coat and hat, she looked like a small grizzly on the fifty-yard-line cheerleading for the Chicago Bears. He did his best not to look in her direction as he stood and half-listened to the Kommandant's less than fascinating mid-day address… something about keeping the rec hall clean or there would be no movie that weekend; he couldn't really be sure since he was only listening with one ear. There was a strange bright light that kept flashing in his eyes; it was getting even more annoying than the combination of Klink's monotonous droning and Marya's over-the-top efforts to get him to look her way. He glanced towards the prisoners' laundry instead.

Standing beside Marya was the serious-sounding Herr Holtzmann of the night before, looking every bit as humorless as he had sounded over the speaker, probably with no idea why he was being required to review the troops, and still clutching that attaché case Klink hadn't been able to persuade him to store in the safe. Too bad. It could have been simple: were the case in the safe, Newkirk could have had his hands on it hours ago. Considering the hour the two of them had arrived, though, it had been impossible to make any kind of a try for it before dawn. And naturally Marya couldn't be counted on to actually _help_ them… oh, she might _say_ she was helping; might even _believe_ it, but as far as doing something simple like maybe passing the case out an open window to them… no, that wasn't in her repertoire, not at all. Marya never did anything the easy way.

There was that flickering light again. Hogan squinted and looked to one side.

The one person who _did_ look happy to see her was LeBeau, and he wasn't trying too hard to conceal his enthusiasm. Smiling broadly, jumping up in the air every so often to get a better look at her, even blowing her a discreet kiss or two until Newkirk elbowed him hard in the side and muttered something about throwing up. What could he possibly see in her? None of them had ever been able to figure it out, but she sure had their favorite Frenchman wrapped around her finger.

 _Her finger_.

Doing his best to look away as he had been, Hogan had only just noticed the noontime sun bouncing off the ring on her left hand. And he realized that it wasn't his imagination, either… she was deliberately _trying_ to send that light into his eyes. That was some rock, if it could do that from several yards away.

The moment she saw that she had his attention, Marya smiled, and raised her hand to smooth her hair. Then she glanced pointedly at the briefcase under Holtzmann's arm, her eyebrows arching like arrows toward the target.

Interesting. So was that what was so valuable about the case… was it filled with priceless gemstones? Not exactly their line of work… what would that kind of thing have to do with his operation? They were in the escape and sabotage business; they weren't jewelry wholesalers. Well, he suspected he'd know soon… Marya wasn't one to keep things to herself for long.

Finally Klink wound down, as he always did, with a salute and a harassed " _Dis_ -missed!" Hogan waited, though, instead of proceeding back to the barracks with the rest of the men as usual. And he was right: here came Schultz.

"If you please, Colonel Hogan… the woman… she would like to see you in the Kommandant's office."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Although I do not know the lady well, I would say… definitely _not._ "

"Did she ask for me too?" LeBeau asked eagerly.

"Why should she ask for you, Cockroach?"

"She adores me. She tries to hide it."

"She is doing _very good_ at that." With a dismissive wave of his substantial hand in LeBeau's direction, like shooing away a pesky fly, Schultz indicated that Colonel Hogan should precede him to the Kommandant's office.

Oh well… had to happen sooner or later. Hogan steeled himself to the inevitable as he set his cap and took his first steps toward the gallows… uh, make that the _office._

oo 0 oo

It was a little early in the day for a drink, but that wasn't stopping Klink… he was downing a schnapps in one swallow right as Hogan walked in, and being very careful to keep his desk in between himself and the Russian woman to prevent any unnecessary contact. "Thanks, I'd love one," Hogan substituted for a standard greeting.

"Hogan!"

"Allow me, Hogan darling." Marya poured him a matching glass of amber liquid, but instead of handing it to him she held it close to herself, leaning towards him and puckering her lips for a kiss. He couldn't reach one without being in range of the other, and it made him hesitate. "I understand…" she smiled. "Later… when we're alone…" This time when she handed him the drink there was no catch to it, and he accepted it. "You are adorable when you struggle to resist me."

"Um… yeah." He took a sip of the liquor, then turned to speak to Herr Holtzmann. "Colonel Robert Hogan, senior prisoner of war officer… nice to meet you. And you are…?"

"You drink with your prisoners, Klink?" Holtzmann demanded with disgust.

"A _lot_ of strange things happen when _she's_ around…" Klink mumbled into his empty glass.

"Hogan darling, this is Gussie Holtzmann… he means nothing to me."

Oh, for the day when he might be able to hear her say that applied to _him_. Did she think he was playing hard to get or something? Did she honestly not realize that he had no romantic interest in her at all? And taking it another step, did she not realize that she was on the short list of women he'd met since his incarceration that he could say that about with a straight face? "Herr Holtzmann," was all he said. "What brings you to our little stalag?"

"I will not be interrogated by a prisoner!" Holtzmann stalked to the door and opened it with the hand that wasn't still clutching his case. "I intend to be on my way as soon as possible. You may stay behind with your American friend if you wish, Marya!" His tone gave some idea what his preference would be.

"Excuse me, please, Fraulein…" Klink scurried to the door as well, still with the empty glass in his hand. "Herr Holtzmann? Please, I assure you, this is normally the best-run prisoner of war camp in all Germany…"

Ever the boot-licker, either Klink knew who this guy was and felt the need to impress him, or he had no idea who he was and was afraid he might turn out to be important. At the moment that made no difference to Hogan. He was entirely caught up in getting Marya off him. "Alone at last!" she sighed, pressing against him and hooking her arms around his neck.

He pushed her away. "Will you back off? We probably don't have very long before Klink comes back in; Holtzmann's doing his best to give him the brush-off… so hurry it up; what is it you wanted me to know about your boyfriend and his briefcase?"

"I _told_ you; he means _nothing_ to me!"

Hogan broke one of his cardinal rules and took her hand, but this time he had a good reason. He tapped the hefty stone set in her ring. "Oh yeah? Then what's with the engagement ring?"

She smiled and narrowed her eyes. "You are jealous."

Too bad she wasn't drunk… then there'd be an excuse for her behavior. As it was, she was stone-cold sober and he knew it very well. "C'mon, willya?"

"Anywhere with _you_ , Hogan _darling_." But she was also bright, and she was pretty good about knowing just exactly how far she could push him before he really got irritated with her. "All right, all right…" She met his eyes, this time cutting out the flirtatious banter completely, instantly switching over to all-business. "What would you say if I told you that Gustav Holtzmann can make diamonds?"

Hogan thought for a moment. Not his area of expertise, but he'd heard some talk here and there. "Synthetic diamonds aren't exactly unknown. He's not the only one."

"Of course not. But he _is_ the only one who has invented a way to dramatically accelerate the process. Not only faster, but his procedure costs fifty percent less than the way others are manufacturing similar stones… meaning less use of materials, time, and equipment."

It was beginning to make some kind of sense. Often he wasn't sure it ever would when Marya was concerned, but sooner or later she always stopped chasing her own tail and actually came right out and gave him the real reason why she was there. He gave a low whistle. "Oh boy…"

"You _do_ know what diamonds are used for besides mere baubles?"

Did he ever. "They use 'em in weaponry… industry… manufacturing…

"And rockets."

He nodded. "Yeah. Just to name a few."

"So I do not have to tell you how important is the formula for the process that sad little Gussie has developed."

"No, but I'd still like to know why you brought him _here._ "

"So we can work together!" she effervesced, a little too loudly for Hogan's liking. He made a move to shush her, not sure whether or not Klink and/or 'sad little Gussie' might still be right on the other side of the closed door to the outer office. "Really, Hogan darling, you may one day stop amusing me with your coy little games."

Hopefully. Maybe then she'd go off and find somebody else to annoy. But this baby was on his doorstep now, and he was going to have to deal with it. "And just what exactly is it that we'd be working together _on_ … I mean, assuming I don't just walk out of here right now and leave you to handle sad little Gussie on your own?"

"Only to arrange an air strike on his factory outside Düsseldorf, to destroy any information on the process that he does not carry with him."

Hogan realized his mouth was open. "Oh, is _that_ all? Do you think I can just hail a squadron of bombers like taxicabs at a hack stand?"

"You can do it, Hogan darling," she said slowly, with certain knowledge. Unfortunately, she knew enough about his organization here at Stalag 13 to know exactly what she was talking about… he had to give her that. He didn't have to like it, but for his own safety and that of his entire operation, he had to concede that point.

"And _if_ I can…?"

She shrugged her shoulders with casual indifference. "Then all you will have to do is get Gussie to England. _Prostoy._ "

"This just gets better and better… and if I _don't_ help you?"

"Then Russia will be the only country with the accelerated diamond manufacturing process… did I mention I have already sent a complete copy of Gussie's plans to Moscow? And you will have missed a fabulous opportunity for the Allies to strike a blow to the Nazi war effort. Or, you may go now back to your little barracks and think of what you will say when later London asks you why you could not be bothered."

Blackmail too. She was really touching all the bases today. He set his lips in a firm, hard line, and nodded slightly. "Okay, I get it."

"I knew you would see it my way."

Pretty much like Poland had seen it Hitler's way. But he refused to let her hold all the high cards. "I want some proof that this process is everything you say it is before I commit the resources."

"Of course."

"I want a look at the plans, and I want a closer look at that stone." She immediately lifted her hand to stroke his cheek with the backs of her fingers, putting the ring a scant inch underneath his 20/20 vision, but he brushed it away. " _Not_ like that… I want someone who knows what he's looking at to check 'em out. Somebody I know is on _my_ side."

" _Our_ side."

 _"My_ side."

She raised her own glass. "Truce?"

Did he have a choice? He lifted his glass with something less than total enthusiasm. "Okay, yeah, truce. But _don't_ get any funny ideas."

She gave him a smooth smile as she touched the rim of her glass to his. "You are too late."

"That's what I was afraid of."


	3. Chapter 3

The men were all seated around the table waiting for Hogan when he returned to the barracks a couple of minutes later. "How come you weren't listening in?" was his first question. "Is the coffeepot on the blink?"

"It's workin' fine," Newkirk assured him. "But things were startin' to sound a bit… well… 'friendly' in there, so we thought the gentlemanly thing to do would be to unplug it."

"Friendly? With _her_ , friendly? Over my dead body… but stick around; it may come to that." He sat down with the men and automatically picked up the cup of fresh coffee that LeBeau had just as automatically set out for him. "How far did you hear up to?"

"The last thing we heard was her saying 'Alone at last'", Kinch replied. "I'm with Newkirk; I really didn't want to hear whatever was coming after that."

"Well, you missed the best part… her boyfriend Holtzmann is in the diamond-manufacturing business."

"Did she _tell_ you he was her boyfriend?" LeBeau interrupted.

"Later, LeBeau, all right?"

"I just want to know if…"

Newkirk solved the problem by reaching behind LeBeau's shoulders and clamping a hand down solidly over the Frenchman's mouth. "Go ahead, sir."

"This guy is apparently a big cheese in the industry. Plenty of guys can make diamonds, but according to Marya he can make them a lot faster and cheaper than the competition in the Allied countries."

Kinch whistled softly. "Wow. That's got major implications for communications."

"And weaponry," Carter put in. It was, after all, his favorite subject. "Synthetic diamonds are superconductors; they diffuse heat generated by some pretty sophisticated circuitry in some of the newer explosives. If you ask me, though, your basic dynamite is still a good choice for most anything on the ground; you really can't go wrong with a good old-fashioned…"

"I got another hand," Newkirk warned, displaying it in case Carter had forgotten. It worked; Carter pressed his lips together and even bit down on them for good measure. "Go right ahead, sir."

"I told Marya I wanted a betterlook at that salesman's sample she's got on her finger."

"Great," Kinch nodded. "Let's see it."

Hogan gave him a look. "This is _Marya,_ remember? You think she just handed it to me to stick in my pocket and said 'see ya later'? Actually that wouldn't have worked anyway; Holtzmann would notice it was gone in about ten seconds. He's keeping a good eye on it _and_ on her."

"So how _are_ we supposed to get a look at it?"

"She told me Holtzmann's going down the road with the motor pool sergeant to take a look at their car that broke down. I'm sure he'll be taking the briefcase with the plans along with him, but he _won't_ be taking Marya. She'll be in Klink's quarters in an hour waiting for us."

"Not a word," Newkirk reminded LeBeau, who had brightened visibly even with the Englishman's hand still over his mouth.

"If that rock is as good as she says it is, then we'll need to find a way to get our hands on the formula and make copies to send to London."

"Shouldn't be a problem, sir."

"Oh, you haven't heard the best part. _Then_ she wants us to arrange an air strike on Holtzmann's factory. After _that,_ she wants us to get him to England."

"Is she crackers?"

Hogan sipped the coffee thoughtfully. "Yup."

oo 0 oo

Marya was ready and waiting an hour later, when the heavy coal-burning stove in Klink's quarters began to shift to one side to expose the tunnel entrance underneath… in fact, she was a little more 'ready' than Hogan might have liked. She had arranged herself on the divan in a casual way, feet up, shoes off, swirling a small amount of brandy in a snifter. Some men might have felt that the filmy powder-blue peignoir she had substituted for the fur coat accentuated her more attractive physical qualities. Not Hogan: the sight of her made him want to get back down the ladder as fast as he could go and look for a nice safe ammo dump to blow up instead of getting into the diamond business. But, duty called… he took a deep breath to steel himself and forced himself to emerge from the opening in the floor. It would be okay, he told himself; Newkirk and LeBeau were right behind him. LeBeau, in fact, was so close behind that the two of them were nearly wearing the same flight jacket.

"I knew you would come back!" the corporal effervesced, scrambling over to the sofa to kiss her hand as if there were already a hoard of admirers around her clambering for the privilege.

He was rewarded with a smile and a brief caress to his cheek. Jackpot. "My small one…" she purred. "How wonderful to see you."

"It is even _more_ wonderful to see _you_."

"I wish _I_ wasn't seein' either one of 'em," Newkirk asided to Hogan.

"Just do what you need to do and let's get outta here," was the reply. "LeBeau, watch the door."

But LeBeau was completely derailed by the sight of the diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, and nothing else registered, not even a directive from his superior officer. He gasped audibly, but she shook her head. "Do not worry; it is merely for display," she assured him.

"You can't display it on your _other_ hand?"

She beamed at him. "How _sweet_."

"I can't take much more of this…" Newkirk muttered as he joined the two of them next to the sofa. "Uh, excuse me, madam… the colonel would like me to have a look at that rock candy of yours, if you don't mind?"

She gave him a not-too-complimentary once-over. "If I must." She extended her hand mechanically, as if signaling a left turn from a convertible.

Newkirk paused a moment – he had been hoping she would take the ring off and just hand it to him to examine, but obviously things were never simple when the Russian woman was concerned, exactly as the colonel had just reminded them. He finally took her hand, somewhat against his better judgment, and with his other hand lifted the jewelers' loupe he had brought along to his right eye. "Light's not the best just here," he remarked as he leaned in to take a close look.

LeBeau quickly maneuvered to grasp Marya's hand in both of his own, completely hijacking Newkirk's perfectly innocent and businesslike hold on the woman's fingers, and moved it a little closer to the table lamp. "How about _here_?"

"Suits me." And so did getting it over with, so without any further posturing or argument Newkirk set himself to the task at hand… literally. "My my…" he mused. "Very nice indeed."

"The real deal?" Hogan asked.

"The real _fake_ deal, yes sir… this one's top hole, no rubbish."

Hogan had to admit that part of him had been hoping the diamond would be of poor quality… that would have brought their so-called collaboration to a screeching halt. Oh well. He had to play the hand he was dealt. And high-quality synthetic diamonds were something the Allies would be able to put to very good use, especially if they had both the formula _and_ the scientist who had invented it on the good-guys' side of the English Channel as well. "Okay," he nodded to Marya. "So far it's just like you said."

"You doubted me?"

" _I_ never did," LeBeau assured her.

"So now we need to get a look at the formula." Hogan had come to the conclusion that running right over LeBeau's interruptions was the only way to get through this in halfway decent time. "I assume Holtzmann's got the case with him now."

" _Always_ ," she replied with an exasperated sigh.

"What's wrong with the car; do you know?"

"What's to know?" She reached behind the throw pillow on the sofa and extracted a small handful of black-coated wires. "We stop at the side of the road to look at the map; he looks there, I pull here; the car stops going."

"Do you _have_ to do everything the hard way?" Hogan grabbed the wires from her hands and passed them to Newkirk. "Get rid of these before Klink or Holtzmann finds them."

Newkirk obligingly tossed the cluster down the opening of the tunnel entrance. "If there's ever a shortage of brass, _she'll_ come in handy."

That was putting it mildly. "The motor pool sergeant won't take too long to figure out what the problem is, and then it won't be long before Holtzmann gets back. Is he ever _without_ the case?"

Marya nodded matter-of-factly. "Of course."

"Good. When?"

"In his bath."

Hogan's heart sank. "Terrific."

Schultz's voice, too close for comfort, suddenly reached their ears; it sounded like he must be right on the other side of the front door. "Herr Holtzmann, I will take care of that _right away._ You can depend on me!"

Hogan glared at LeBeau. "Didn't I say 'watch the door'?" He didn't wait for an answer; just grabbed both Newkirk and LeBeau by their sleeves and pushed them towards the hole in the floor. "Go! Schultz we could handle, but if Holtzmann finds us all in here we're finished!"

They both disappeared at breakneck speed through the small opening, but the front door was already opening and there was no time for Hogan to follow. Instead, he rolled the stove back into place to cover the tunnel entrance and completed the motion just as Holtzmann, trailed by Schultz, entered the room. "What are you doing here?" the scientist demanded.

"Me? Oh, I just stopped by to see if you needed anything… you know; tourist brochures, restaurant recommendations, the usual Chamber of Commerce stuff."

"Get out!"

Hogan shrugged disarmingly. "Okay, but you never get to know an area unless you get the inside scoop from the locals. Just trying to do you a favor."

" _Out_!"

And that was exactly where he wanted to go… _out._ Marya winked an eye heavily coated with mascara at him, but he pretended not to notice. He might have sneaked _in_ through a hole in the floor, but Hogan strutted _out_ right through the front door of Klink's quarters, past a disapproving Schultz, and headed back to the barracks. It was the first thing that had gone right all day.

oo 0 oo

"Activity in the compound, Colonel."

Kinch stepped aside to allow Hogan to look through the rain-barrel periscope that gave them a bird's eye view of what was going on outside Klink's office. Schultz, in the driver's seat, had just pulled Klink's staff car up to the front steps of his office, but it wasn't Klink who was ready to get in: it was Marya and her entourage of one, and Holtzmann still had the briefcase under his arm.

"Where do they think _they're_ going?" Hogan asked nobody in particular. When no answer came, since none of the men had the slightest idea, he grabbed his cap and headed for the door. "Never mind; I'll ask them myself."

Marya, as always, was more than happy to broadcast the change in plans so they could be heard a quarter of a mile away, so Hogan had the bulk of the new information even before he had reached them. "How _wonderful_ of you to loan us your staff car to get to the hotel in town, Klink!"

That wasn't part of the plan. Well, obviously _now_ it was, but just as during Marya's previous visits, Hogan found himself conspicuously left out of the planning stages and needing to catch up at the last minute, like cramming for a test. That was _not_ the way he preferred to operate.

"Very happy to assist you, Herr Holtzmann," Klink said, taking care to direct his words towards her escort and not to her personally… every time he spoke to that woman directly, she thought of something to say back, and it was never anything he wanted to hear.

Holtzmann didn't look pleased, but he didn't look especially displeased either. It was possible that the dour expression on his face was a constant presence no matter what situation he found himself in. "You will notify me immediately when my car is repaired. We will be at the Hausnerhof."

"Yes, of course, Herr Holtzmann."

Marya gave Hogan a dramatic wave. "Hope to see you again soon, Hogan darling!"

Why didn't she just hire a skywriter? She knew he'd be right behind her as soon as possible, sneaking out of camp and all the way into Hammelburg to get a look at what was in that case… why advertise it and risk making it any harder for him? Like Klink and Holtzmann, Hogan did his best not to encourage her. "I wouldn't bet on it," was all he said to her.

She blew him a kiss that fortunately neither Klink not Holtzmann was in a position to notice. Schultz was, but as soon as he saw it he closed both of his own eyes as tightly as they would go. It was going to be tough to drive into town like that.

Marya, Holtzmann, and the briefcase got into the back seat of the staff car and Klink ordered "Drive on!" Schultz, to his credit, opened his eyes before putting the car into gear.

Hogan approached Klink on the steps as the car cleared the gate. "That's the last we'll be seeing of _them_ ," Klink said firmly, with undisguised satisfaction.

Hogan doubted that. Very much. Because he was already thinking about how he was going to manage to get into town after lights-out to get his hands on that case.


	4. Chapter 4

It was never easy to steal… that is, _borrow…_ a vehicle from the motor pool, especially at night, and especially when anyone but Schultz was on duty. The guards got jumpier after dark, and a jumpy guard could do some serious damage to anything or any _one_ that spooked him. But Hogan, as usual, had a cure for that.

Kinch made a quick trip outside the wire that afternoon to pull even _more_ vital components out from under the hood of Holtzmann's Mercedes sedan, making it necessary for the hapless motor pool mechanic to lug a lot more heavy parts and equipment the half-mile down the road to the disabled car. After a bit of provocation from Newkirk and Carter, standing nearby taunting Klaus for the heavy load he labored under and loudly making bets with one another that he wouldn't dare take Klink's motorcycle with sidecar to make his work easier, Klaus did just exactly that. And once Klaus was well underneath Holtzmann's car trying to repair it, Kinch was more than happy to disable the motorbike as well when he wasn't looking. So it was a very unhappy Klaus who trudged back to the camp at dusk without having managed to put either vehicle back in service, but now the motorbike was right where Hogan wanted it, and Kinch easily popped back in all the parts it needed to get back on the road.

"Fingers crossed for no bed checks before we get back," Hogan said as he straightened the small black moustache that added to his disguise as a Nazi captain.

LeBeau stood at his side, already dressed as a German private and unquestionably eager to get up the ladder to the tunnel opening and then on the road to town. "I can't wait to see her again," he said with enthusiasm.

"Colonel, why _him_?" Newkirk couldn't resist asking.

"She wants to see me!" LeBeau replied, apparently never having considered that there could be any other reason.

"He fits in the sidecar," Hogan corrected.

" _D'accord_ , but she also wants to see me!"

"Keep it up and I'll go alone." Hogan checked his sidearm. "Okay, this is it. LeBeau, got the camera?"

He patted his breast pocket. " _Oui, Colonel…_ Carter's smallest one. Perfect for photographing documents."

"Film?"

He nodded "Don't worry, I checked it right after Carter gave it to me."

"Thanks a _lot,_ pal," Carter put in, sounding peeved.

"Carter, a little double-checking never hurt anybody," the colonel reminded him. "Okay, fellas, this is it. Let's hope that nutty Russian does something to make it easier for us for once."

oo 0 oo

Hogan didn't really think that would be the case, which was what made it all the more surprising when he went to knock on the door of Room 209 an hour later and discovered that it was not only unlocked, but ajar. "You see?" LeBeau was quick to point out in a stage whisper. "She has _always_ been on our side; I _know._ "

Hogan motioned for quiet, and listened for any sounds inside the suite that would give him a clue what might be going on. There were no voices, and he could see that one small lamp was lit… so they weren't asleep yet. There was a sound, though, from well inside… probably behind a second door. "Water running," he reported to LeBeau. "She said Holtzmann only lets go of the case when he's taking a bath."

"So that means we can go in, take the pictures and leave before he notices anything wrong."

" _Maybe_. I never bet on anything when _she's_ concerned."

Hogan was bold enough, though, to push the door open far enough to get a good look into the suite. If Holtzmann happened to be right there, he had an excuse and profound apology at the ready for entering the wrong room by mistake. But there was no one in sight. The sound of running water was louder now, obviously coming from the adjoining bathroom. Well… he'd come too far to back out now. Hogan moved swiftly and silently toward the bathroom door and edged it open just a couple of inches.

There _was_ someone bathing in the clawfoot tub… Marya, up to her neck in bubbles. She gave him her wiley-cat smile, but for once she kept her mouth shut… that was something. And it was also very necessary, because on the other side of the room, that had to be Holtzmann behind the opaque curtain standing under the running water in the small corner shower stall. Hogan had no time to stand on ceremony or even to be the slightest bit embarrassed at the intrusion; he mouthed the words _where's the case?_ and the Russian pouted for only a moment at his lack of enthusiasm for her state of undress before pointing towards the bedroom and gesturing to suggest the opening of a drawer. Hogan signaled to her that he understood, and withdrew immediately, pulling the bathroom door shut.

"It's in the dresser," he relayed to LeBeau.

"How do you know?"

It went without saying that there was no chance Hogan would tell him what he'd just seen in the bathroom… all he needed right now was a swooning, overcome-with-passion Frenchman on his hands. "Just start opening drawers."

The briefcase was there, exactly as Marya had said. The plans were even inside… would wonders never cease? This was too easy. LeBeau had just photographed the first two pages of the plans and glanced up at the colonel to tell him it was going very well, when his eyes got saucer-wide at something directly behind Hogan and he pulled in a loud gasp of shock.

Okay… so which one of the two people Hogan didn't want to be standing in the bathroom doorway was standing in the bathroom doorway? He was afraid to look, but he turned around anyway.

Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, bare from her shoulders up and her knees down, Marya was just closing the door of the bathroom, leaving Holtzmann to his hot shower and, embarrassingly, also to sing the first few desperately off-key stanzas of _Deutschland Uber Alles._ The man was no singer. But that was the least of their problems at the moment. "This may be a ridiculous question," Hogan began, "but why don't you get back in there and stall Holtzmann to give us time to take the pictures and get out before he catches us in the act?"

She shrugged casually. "I thought you would want to know, we are not staying here at the hotel tonight. Gussie is now determined to return to his factory; Schultz will be driving us there within the hour."

"Great… just what we _don't_ need." It would sure help his game if the players in this crazy chess match would stop skipping around the board without any rhyme or reason to their movements. But no more pictures were being taken anyway; LeBeau had received such a shock at the sight of the half-nude object of his adoration that he was just standing there, allowing his eyes to repeatedly roam up and down every inch of her. In a moment he would probably remember he had a camera and start using it… on exactly the _wrong_ thing. They didn't have enough film for that. "Why's he so eager to get back to the factory?"

She flung her hands in the air. "Who knows? But you have contacted London to send bombers to destroy the factory, yes? "

He nodded grimly. "Yeah, and they're on their way. Even if I could stop them at this point it'd be a wasted trip, and there's always the chance that some of those planes might not come back."

"Exactly as I was thinking. So, you must come up with a plan to keep Gussie from returning to his factory tonight so he does not explode along with it before we are finished with him."

"Why _me_? Don't _you_ ever do anything except take bubble baths?"

LeBeau finally found his voice. "I don't mind…" he breathed.

Hogan glared at him. "Will you dry up?"

"As it happens, I do have a plan for you, Hogan darling. Gussie will not want to return to his factory unless he has three things: the formula… this…" She displayed the large diamond on her wet, soapy hand. "This is prototype, one of a kind… the largest he has manufactured so far. He will not leave without it."

"So what's the third thing?"

She struck a dramatic pose… thankfully, the knot in the front of her towel held… and smiled broadly. "You are _looking_ at it."

"Come _on_ … I heard the way he talks to you; he couldn't care less if you're with him or not."

"To a degree that is quite true. But to the degree that he knows how much _I_ know about his work… I do not think he will risk it."

She might have a point there. Hogan hated that, but it happened every so often. The woman was a lot of things, but 'stupid' wasn't one of them. There was a very active, very cunning mind behind that smug smile. Cool as ice in any situation; he'd never seen her get so much as flustered. In a way, he had to admire her. And in that same way, he wanted to kick himself around the block for admitting it, even to himself.

"So your plan is…?"

"I go with you back to Stalag 13, of course."

Oh, brother. Was there anything he'd enjoy _less_? "For your information, the two of us came here in a motorcycle and sidecar… how do you suggest the _three_ of us get back to camp?"

Her eyebrows arched suggestively. " _Closely. Very_ closely."

oo 0 oo

In a switch from the way he and LeBeau had arrived in Hammelburg, Hogan changed places with him and took the sidecar, letting LeBeau drive, and then Marya now wearing her fur coat on over her bath towel enthusiastically hopped into his lap for the return trip. He didn't like it much, but he liked it a little better than the idea of her and LeBeau canoodling all the way back to camp. Under those conditions, he didn't trust his corporal any farther than he could throw him. Having the fur-clad Russian in his lap was a little like holding a large, moody Persian cat, and Hogan had never cared much for cats. They could be purring one moment and have their claws out the next. Just like Marya.

"Ready, _Colonel?_ " LeBeau asked.

Hogan nodded without much enthusiasm. "Let's just hope we don't hit any checkpoints, because I have _no_ idea how I'd explain this."


	5. Chapter 5

_Back on the Aragon Ballroom dance floor. Kay Kyser's orchestra played_ Ma, He's Makin' Eyes at Me.

 _Hogan frowned. That sure wasn't his first choice of romantic soundtrack in a dream. Tommy Dorsey had done a much more satisfactory job the other night. But he had a girl in his arms and he was on the dance floor; who was he to complain? So he'd pick up the tempo a little… nothing wrong with a foxtrot once in a while. Maybe the next one would be a waltz._

 _He could only see the top of this girl's head as they foxtrotted across the floor. She was short… certainly not Claudette Colbert again. Well, what did it matter? She was a_ _girl_ _, wasn't she? And she could sure dance; she wasn't missing a beat, fairly bursting with energy._

" _So…" he ventured in his best opening-line voice. "You come here often?"_

 _Judy Garland tilted her head back and gave him a big all-American-girl smile. "Oh, gosh, no. Mr. Mayer doesn't let me stay out late."_

 _Hogan very nearly tripped over his own feet. "Uh…" There was no subtle way to say this, but he had to know. "How old are you…?"_

 _She laughed, seemingly not the least bit offended. "That's a funny thing to ask. Why; is it important?"_

 _It sure was. It had everything to do with whether the thoughts that had been going through his head when this dream had started were legal or not, for one thing. "Well…"_

 _Before he could decide how to continue, Mickey Rooney arrived on the crowded floor, darting in and out and elbowing other couples aside as he jostled his way towards the two of them. "Hey, Judy, willya look at the time? We gotta make tracks!"_

 _Judy glanced at Hogan's wristwatch and gasped. "Gee willikers!"_

" _I_ _told_ _ya! Boy, are we gonna be in dutch!" Mickey grabbed her arm and pulled; Hogan lost his grip and the two of them raced for the door hand in hand. "Come on!"_

" _Thanks for the dance, Mister!" she called over her shoulder as she ran, her blue gingham pinafore swishing around her knees, just before they rounded a corner and disappeared from view._

 _A five-foot-tall pipsqueak with red hair and freckles had just run off with his date. Hogan scanned the ballroom to see if maybe Claudette had come in without his noticing… or Carole… or Ingrid… or anybody who wouldn't use the words 'gee willikers' and be saddled with a ten o'clock curfew._

 _Well, there was LeBeau, standing at a nearby table lighting a flambé for Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. With the way his luck was running tonight, Hogan wasn't even tempted to ask her to dance; Bogart would probably deck him with one punch. That, he didn't need. "Don't tell me…"he sighed._

 _LeBeau gave a sympathetic shake of his head. "Better luck tomorrow night,_ mon Colonel."

oo 0 oo

Hogan dragged himself down from his top bunk to the strident shouts of " _Raus, raus_!" coming from the main barracks, coupled with the urgent knocking on his door to alert him as if Schultz's voice wasn't already more than enough to jolt him out of a sound sleep. This was Marya's fault. It _had_ to be. He'd had a perfect track record with the starlets in his dreams up to now, night after night, but now _this_ had to happen and wreck his winning streak. The strike-out had her name written all over it, in Cyrillic characters.

The prisoners had barely drifted into formation when their attention was diverted to the front entrance and the large black car that sped in as soon as the gates swung open wide enough to admit it, kicking up a small cloud of sand from its rear wheels as it turned the slight arc toward Klink's office. Whoever it was meant business. And before anyone even had a chance to emerge from the car, Hogan had a pretty good idea who was inside: the SS flag flying on the front fender was a more than adequate calling card.

"What's Hochstetter doing here?" LeBeau asked, as they all watched the compact man dressed in head-to-toe black leap out of the car and stalk up the steps that led to the kommandant's office.

"Search me; he didn't call ahead." It was never pleasant to see the Gestapo major arrive in camp, but some of his visits were more badly-timed than others. Hogan had a feeling this one was no coincidence.

Schultz, no fan of the Gestapo either, was nearly rattled enough to lose his count when he saw the major arrive. " _Ach du lieber…_ " he muttered half to himself. " _Now_ what does he want?"

"What do you mean, 'now'?" Hogan asked.

"Late last night, he telephoned the Kommandant," Schultz confided. "He was _very_ angry."

"I'd call that normal," Newkirk put in. "Ain't never seen him when he wasn't."

"Angry about what?" Hogan pressed the talkative sergeant.

"The major received a call from the man who came here with… that _woman._ " Schultz glanced over his shoulder to ensure that nobody from his own side could hear him spilling the information. "He says she is _missing._ "

"That was kinda careless of him," Kinch said.

Carter nodded enthusiastically. "Right. How can you trust a guy with anything if he can misplace something as big as a woman?"

"It is _true_!" Schultz affirmed. "I was supposed to go back to their hotel last night to drive them to Herr Holtzmann's factory, but she was gone! Major Hochstetter thinks she has been _kidnapped._ "

"Who'd wanna kidnap _her_?" Newkirk asked. "Not ol' Klink, for sure… he was chuffed to see the back of her yesterday."

Schultz gave a shrug and shook his head. "Who knows? All _I_ know is that I am glad to be out _here_ instead of in _there._ "

His satisfaction was short-lived. A moment later a window opened wide, and Klink's voice called out, "Schultz! Get in here, on the double!"

The heavyset guard looked so completely demoralized at moments like this that Hogan probably would have pitied him even if he hadn't been so basically likable in the first place. "Come on, Schultz; I'll go with you." No need to mention that it would be the best way to find out what was going on in there; let Schultz think he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart.

" _Danke_ , Colonel Hogan… but, could you go _instead_ of me?"

"This is wartime, Schultz… we all must make sacrifices."

oo 0 oo

It was a typical scenario in Klink's office: Klink sat at his desk, a human dartboard for the accusations being hurled at him by the ranting Gestapo major who didn't seem as interested in hitting the bullseye as he did in finding out how fast he could spew his verbal projectiles. " _You will not lie to me!"_ he roared at the kommandant, who was bent backwards in his chair as far as he could possibly go without tipping over onto the floor.

"Of course not, Major Hochstetter…" Klink managed to stammer. "I most definitely have _not_ lied to you… uh… you might recall that you haven't actually asked me any questions yet, so I can be most confident about that…" The knock on his office door could not have been more welcome. "Come! Quickly!"

Without missing a beat, the major spun on his heel and focused on Schultz as soon as he entered the office, and the sergeant withered visibly under his scrutiny. "And _you_ , Sergeant Schultz!"

"Y-y-y-yes, _Herr Major…_?"

"What do _you_ know about this matter? You drove them to the hotel last night, _ja_?"

"I know… that… that… that I drove them to the hotel last night… _ja…_ of that I am _completely_ certain!"

"Bah!" On noticing that Colonel Hogan was there as well, Hochstetter nearly imploded. "And what is _this_ man doing here?"

"Oh, I'm in charge of the Lost & Found." Hogan, as always, inserted himself effortlessly into a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with him. "I heard you misplaced something. If you tell me what it is, I'll have the boys take a look around for it. Car keys? Pocket knife? Skull-and-crossbones tie clip?"

"Something a little more _unusual._ " The last word was practically grated into shreds across Hochstetter's vocal cords. He turned once again to Klink. "The Russian woman, the one who accompanied Holtzmann… you will tell me where she is, _now!"_

"But I have no idea where she is now," Klink protested helplessly. "I have not seen that woman… and I might add that I'm very _happy_ not to have seen that woman… since she and Herr Holtzmann left the camp yesterday afternoon with Sergeant Schultz, who drove them to the Hausnerhof at their request. If she has gone missing, I know absolutely nothing about it. Of course, you are perfectly welcome to search the camp if you like…"

Hochstetter slammed his hand, palm down, onto the kommandant's desk. Nearby and looking on, Hogan couldn't help wincing… that had to hurt, but you'd never know it from the major's face. "I do not need your permission to search this camp, Klink!"

"If you'll pardon me, Major," Hogan piped up again, "what makes you think the lady would be here in the first place? It seems to me that she wouldn't have any reason to come back here on her own, and if there's one thing it would be hard to smuggle in without any of the fellas noticing, it's a woman. If she _were_ here, all you'd need to do would be to follow the sound of the wolf whistles."

American slang was one of the rare things that could occasionally derail the single-minded Nazi in mid-tirade, and this did the trick. Those two words made absolutely no sense to him when used together. "Wolf… whistles…?" he repeated, clearly perplexed.

Hogan demonstrated the time-honored two-beat tune. "You haven't heard anything like that, have you?"

"I haven't," Klink shook his head.

"Neither have I," Schultz agreed.

"There, you see? Simple. She's not here. Glad I could help."

He hadn't actually thought that would do anything except aggravate the major further… but that was fun, so it was well worth the time and effort he had put into it. True to form, Hochstetter came to the end of his patience abruptly and withdrew his pistol from its holster. "I will see for myself."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't try to save you some time. I know how busy you are."

"And _you_ will go _with_ me."

"Actually I can't; I was just about to…" Hogan stopped in mid-sentence when the major's pistol leveled at his spleen. "… go with you…"

oo 0 oo

The thick, deep red liquid that LeBeau lovingly stirred in a dented enameled saucepan on top of the stove was eye-catching, there was no doubt about it. He was so involved in his work, he was practically dancing with the spoon. "Lemme guess," Newkirk offered, looking on from his perch on the top bunk where he thumbed a two-year-old copy of _Atlantic Monthly_. "Your beret's faded out, and you're gonna dye it back to the original color."

"Not even close," the chef assured him.

The British corporal shrugged and turned back to the tattered magazine he was barely paying attention to. "Well, that's all _I_ had… anybody else care to have a go?"

"Whatever it is, that pan's never gonna be the same," was all Kinch cared to venture.

Sitting on his own bunk, Carter fiddled with the basket full of rags and brushes that they used for the occasional tidying of various buildings. "You guys are just stalling… if we don't get started cleaning up the rec hall there won't be any movie Saturday night; Klink warned us at roll call."

LeBeau scooped up a small sample of his latest creation and took a sip from the wooden spoon, nodding his approval. "If you must know, I'm making borscht."

"We had to ask…" Newkirk sighed.

"It's for Marya."

"Really? I'd've guessed you were sendin' it off to the Eastern Front as a welcome to the Russian Army when they cross the border."

"I think they'll be able to follow the smell," Kinch said.

"It's only boiled beets and a little cabbage," LeBeau protested.

Kinch arched an eyebrow. "You just proved my point."

Carter, cleaning basket in hand, got to his feet. "Well, _I'm_ gonna go get started on the rec hall."

"You do that," Newkirk nodded dismissively, flipping another worn page of his magazine. "We'll all be by with white gloves a bit later on to see how good a job you done."

"With that attitude, I don't think _you_ should be allowed to _see_ the movie." With that, Carter swung the barracks door open with firm resolve.

And slammed it shut a split second later.

"What's with you?" Kinch asked.

"Major Hochstetter's headed this way, and he's holding a gun on Colonel Hogan!" Carter squawked in a panic.

Their collective blood ran cold. This could be it. Hochstetter might have come tearing into camp at top speed because he'd finally discovered their escape and sabotage operation, and they might all be just a few seconds from an on-the-spot trial for espionage that would last only as long as it would take to make nooses in the ends of five ropes. There was no time to do anything but say a quick, silent prayer… then they took deep breaths, held their positions, and tried very hard to make it look like there was nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ amiss in the barracks, and never had been.

Schultz was the one to push open the barracks door, then immediately stood aside and allowed Colonel Hogan, followed closely by Major Hochstetter and his gun, to enter first. Two of the other guards brought up the rear. "Hi fellas," Hogan greeted them with false bravado, a particularly striking contrast since he also had his hands in the air. "Hope you don't mind, but I brought some friends along… there really wasn't time to call ahead."

"The more, the merrier." Kinch eyed the Gestapo major warily. "Anything we can do to make them feel at home?"

Hochstetter wasn't having any of it. "You will tell me where the Russian woman is! _Now!"_

"There ain't no birds 'ere, sir," Newkirk shook his head. "Russian or otherwise… and that's a real shame, I might add."

Hogan's eyes had gone straight to the simmering, fragrant pan on top of the stove. Oh, swell. Here Hochstetter stood screaming about a missing Russian, and there LeBeau stood cooking a pot of borscht. Why not just wave the old hammer-and-sickle? How could Hochstetter possibly miss the fact that Marya was practically right under his nose?

Speaking of noses, the major's had indeed noticed LeBeau's steaming concoction. "What is that? The odor is revolting."

LeBeau could only stand wordless next to the stove. Fortunately, Kinch picked up the fumble. "Uh… it's a pesticide, Major." He reached for the basket containing Carter's cleaning supplies and dug until he found the tin atomizer. "We've noticed some insects around some of the buildings… we wanted to take care of them before they got out of control."

"Right," Hogan nodded. "In fact, there's a whole nest of them near the door to Colonel Klink's quarters."

"Big, ugly buggers they are," Newkirk joined in. "You don't want somethin' like that gettin' outta hand. Next thing you know they'll be swarmin' in the barracks, and that we _don't_ need."

"So LeBeau here…" Kinch elbowed the silent Frenchman to ensure that he hadn't yet passed out from fright. "LeBeau here cooked up an old recipe that his grandfather used to use when he was an exterminator in Fontainebleau. Works like a charm. Carter was just on his way over to spray around the foundation of the kommandant's quarters."

"I was?" Then Carter tried again, and this time his voice didn't go up high and crack so badly on the second word. "I _was…_ I was just on my way over. Right."

"Well, don't forget _this._ " Kinch took the pan off the stove and carefully poured the dark crimson soup into the open mouth of the dented flit gun, then gestured for Carter to screw the spray top down tightly.

"And be careful," Newkirk told him. "You don't want that stuff gettin' on you. Might take the skin off right down to the bone."

"It smells absolutely lethal," Hochstetter grumbled, turning away in disgust.

"Okay if I go ahead then, sir?" Carter asked.

" _Go_ ; what do I care? Get that… that whatever it is out of here, quickly."

"Thank you." Carter nodded politely and then gratefully ducked out the door with his 'cleaning supplies'.

Hochstetter turned and shouted after him, "And keep away from my staff car! If you spill even one drop of that on my car I will have you shot!"

"Got it!" Carter called over his shoulder as he hustled away from the barracks. Now to spray hot borscht all over Klink's front porch… that was definitely something he hadn't expected would be part of his day when he'd awakened that morning, and he couldn't help chuckling to himself as he ran. _Crazy war..._

As the rest of the prisoners stood and watched, Hochstetter supervised Schultz and the two other guards in their 'barracks inspection'… more accurately, a ransacking… that turned up no contraband of any size or shape, most especially not a five-foot-eight-inch White Russian with an hourglass figure. When Hogan started for the door and courteously invited the major to accompany him to Barracks Three to continue the search, Hochstetter only screamed "Who needs you?" and stormed out, gesturing for only the German guards to follow him. As soon as the door slammed shut, the four prisoners heaved a collective sigh of relief and sank into their seats at the battered wooden table in the middle of the room.

"That was close," Hogan acknowledged for the entire group.

"And how," Newkirk added.

A faint tapping noise reached their ears. Everyone immediately knew what it was, but only LeBeau was willing to make the effort to get to his feet and cross the room to the bunk connected to the trap door that covered the tunnel. He hit the secret panel that triggered the mechanism and the bottom bunk swung open.

A moment later, Marya was at the top of the ladder and popping her head up from the hole like a jack-in-the-box. "Do I smell borscht?"


	6. Chapter 6

After Carter returned from his impromptu extermination assignment, he headed straight for the darkroom to develop the photos LeBeau had taken of the plans for Holtzmann's diamond manufacturing process. Hogan waited, more or less patiently, in the radio room, along with Kinch. Marya, still lamenting the loss of perfectly good borscht to such a turn of bad luck, stood nearby eating cold beans straight out of the can with a bent spoon, which Hogan had informed her was one of two specials on the menu that day… the other special being "nothing", and he had invited her to take her choice. She had exchanged the bath towel and fur coat she had arrived in for some rumpled and outsized fatigues, and that didn't really suit her either. But, for the moment, she bided her time. There was always a chance her luck would change for the better. It usually did, and it seldom took very long. She had learned not to concern herself too much with minor setbacks.

"I will admit," she ventured, "this visit is not quite as amusing as I had hoped it would be."

"Good," Hogan replied. "Don't get too comfortable. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you go getting yourself… _and_ us… into a mess like this."

"There is problem?"

"I should have figured Holtzmann might get the Gestapo involved. With Hochstetter prowling around our hands are tied; we can't run the escape route and we'll be lucky to be able to communicate with London at all."

"You got that right," Kinch nodded. "We saw that radio detection truck he always drags along behind him roll in right after his goons tossed the barracks this morning. And they also brought in a portable unit for Klink's office, just to cover all their bases. Any messages will have to be short and sweet… emphasis on _short._ "

"She was right about one thing; Holtzmann's real serious about getting that ring back, and his work is important enough for the Gestapo to come help him look for it. About the only thing that's gone _right_ so far is the strike on his factory. It was a direct hit."

Marya brightened. "You see? Together we are invincible!" When Hogan failed to respond with complete agreement, or any other kind of agreement for that matter, she shrugged and scraped her spoon against the bottom of the nearly-empty can to reach the last of her no-frills lunch. "Hochstetter will find nothing. And Gussie is a weak man… morally, ethically, and in any other way you could possibly name. He is ripe for the picking, Hogan darling. He will not require much convincing to come over to our side."

"You keep saying that. What makes you so sure?"

"What choice does he have? He has no more factory. He would have to start over."

"What if he wants to?"

"That would require financing, no? Hitler may not be quite so quick to sign him a blank check this time. Although his research is quite valuable Gussie is not, how you say, 'politically popular'. He is not a favorite, and it would take him some time to acquire the backing he would need to begin again. He knows this. He is no _gyeniy_ , you understand, but that much he knows. A generous offer from the Allies to fund his research in England… _that_ will appeal to him."

Again, Hogan was forced to agree that she might well be entirely right about that. Holtzmann was between a rock and a hard place. His factory and his life's work were a still-smoldering pile of bricks and timber thanks to the RAF. And as important as his work obviously was to the Third Reich, as evidenced by Hochstetter's arrival, it was only one of a whole lot of expensive problems the Reich had to deal with at the moment… so unless he had an influential friend high up in the order, there was no guarantee he would go to the front of the line for funding. But there was still the chance that he would want to try. This was pretty high-level stuff he was working on, and the Nazis were sometimes annoyingly unpredictable when it came to such things. "You sure he doesn't have any important pals in Berlin?"

" _Peh._ He has personality of wet sock. Even his wife could not care less what happens to him."

Carter emerged from behind the black drape over the entrance to the darkroom, carrying a pine plank that had three strips of damp negatives clipped to it with mousetraps. "Here you go, Colonel. Fresh out of the fixer."

He held them up to the glow from a kerosene lantern as Hogan picked up a magnifying glass. "These look pretty good," he nodded as he moved the glass down the first strip of negatives. "Clear enough." He ran down the second strip. "Should make good prints."

"That's what I thought."

At the end of the third strip, Hogan paused. "What's _this_?"

Carter looked suddenly guilty. "Uh… what's what?"

"It's a picture of Marya and LeBeau!"

"Oh… um… there was just the one exposure at the end of the roll, and well, I didn't want to waste it… and LeBeau asked… so I just kinda…" He awkwardly mimed snapping a photo. "Y'know…"

"A souvenir of my visit to your wonderful tunnel," Marya smiled. "I'll take a copy for my wallet. And make another for my delicious small one."

Carter tipped his cap reflexively. "Yes, ma'am."

"What do you think this is, a corner drugstore?" Hogan demanded.

Before Carter could reply… and he was pretty sure his answer should be "no sir"… Newkirk appeared at the top of the ladder leading to the barracks. "We got trouble up 'ere."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The Gestapo kind."

Setting the strips of negatives aside, Hogan headed for the ladder. If there were any breaks to be had, it was a sure thing that none of them were coming _his_ way.

oo 0 oo

Upstairs in Hogan's office, LeBeau had remained to listen to the coffeepot while Newkirk went to get the colonel. From the look on his face, Hogan was already sure the news was going to be of one type only: exceedingly bad. "What's up?"

In answer, LeBeau gestured to the speaker, from which Major Hochstetter's voice emanated. _"Klink, I am warning you for the last time…"_

 _"All I said was that I told you that you would not find that Russian woman in my camp… and you_ _didn't_ _… so…"_

 _"Klink!"_

 _"I don't even understand why it is that you think she's been kidnapped. That woman is likely to do anything. She could have simply taken it into her head to go somewhere without telling Holtzmann."_

 _"In the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a diamond ring, a bath towel and a fur coat? Those are the only items missing from the room, according to Holtzmann! You think a woman dressed like that would not draw attention in Hammelburg?"_

 _"I've told you how eccentric she can be…"_

 _"She has no shoes, no papers and no money, Klink! Even an intellect as blunted as yours must be able to grasp that she did not leave that hotel room willingly! Holtzmann is a very important man to the Third Reich, that Russian has something of great importance to his work in her possession, someone who realizes its value has taken her, and I will find her if it is the last thing I do!"_

"Sounds like he means it," Newkirk remarked.

"All we wanted to do was stall Holtzmann long enough to keep him from going back to his factory so he wouldn't be blown to bits in the air raid," Hogan grumbled. "Who knew anybody else would care; especially Hochstetter? We've gotta get to Holtzmann and hit him up with the idea of going to England, and fast, before Hochstetter decides to start taking this place apart again… next time he might find something. I'm going back to the hotel."

"Don't bother," LeBeau shook his head. "Before you got here we heard Hochstetter tell Klink that he's bringing Holtzmann back here for safekeeping. He's already sent a car for him."

That put a whole new level on the challenge. With Hochstetter's eye squarely on Holtzmann after he returned to Stalag 13, how were they going to manage to contact him in secret and try to talk him into defecting? "What car did he send?"

"Klink's."

"Who's the driver?"

"Schultz."

Hogan folded his arms thoughtfully. "I think Holtzmann is just about to meet somebody important. _Really_ important."

Maybe… just maybe… they were about to catch a break after all.

oo 0 oo

As assignments went, Schultz mused as he drove along the Hammelburg Road towards Stalag 13, the ones he had been drawing recently were pretty dull… just exactly the way he liked them. As long as they wanted to keep ordering him to drive back and forth between the camp and town, either with or without anyone riding in the back, that was perfectly all right with him. It beat walking a post outside the wire. Just about _anything_ beat walking a post, in the dark and the cold. When he was driving, he was sitting down… that in itself was an improvement. There was a heater in the car… _sehr gut._ Herr Holtzmann was completely silent in the back seat, making no demands for polite conversation or requiring his driver to expend any additional effort whatsoever… _auch sehr gut._ He had even managed to get himself a snack in town before stopping at the hotel to pick up his passenger. It was turning out to be a perfect evening.

Until the four heavily-armed masked commandos stepped out into the middle of the road in front of the car.

Schultz stomped on the brake, sending Holtzmann bouncing off the back of the front seat and then halfway onto the floor. "What are you doing, you imbecile?" he barked.

Schultz wasn't one to take offense; it didn't matter to him one bit what Holtzmann chose to call him… Holtzmann didn't have a gun, and those four men all did, so it was _their_ opinions of him that mattered. " _Stopping_!" he stammered.

" _Why_?" Before Schultz could go into any further detail, Holtzmann saw for himself what the problem was. Instinctively he clutched his briefcase closely against his chest. "Drive around them, Schultz!"

The Luger pointed at him through the driver's window quickly convinced Schultz to disregard that suggestion. "I wouldn't," the gruff voice of the masked man holding the gun advised him.

"I wouldn't either…" Schultz agreed, managing to release his vise-grip on the steering wheel only so he was able to raise his trembling hands slowly into the air.

A second black-garbed man opened the rear door and gestured to Holtzmann. "You're coming with us!" he demanded.

"And if I refuse?" Holtzmann countered.

"Then the Russian woman dies!"

Holtzmann kept his seat and didn't even appear to be momentarily conflicted about his decision. Fortunately, his back was to the shortest of the four commandos, who took a step towards the car and raised his rifle as if he intended to smack the scientist in the back of the head with it, until one of his companions held him back.

"Let me put it another way," the one holding his pistol on Schultz began. "First the Russian dies, then _you_ die. The _Führer_ is accustomed to having his orders carried out immediately!"

That did get Holtzmann's full attention. "The _Führer_?"

"The _Führer_ …" Schultz echoed with a faint groan. What had happened to his pleasant evening? One minute everything had been going fine; now there were masked men with guns talking about the _Führer_ … and the chances that his own name would come up later on in front of people that he would rather never even realized he existed were getting better and better. " _Ach du Lieber…_ "

"He desires to meet with you immediately!" the lead commando continued. "Are you sure you wish to keep him waiting, Herr Holtzmann?"

Schultz by now was more than halfway to a full-blown nervous breakdown as he scanned the dark forest surrounding the staff car, fearful that at any moment Adolf Hitler himself might descend from the hillside and order a double execution right there in the middle of the road. "The _Führer_ is _here_?"

"Coming with us, Herr Holtzmann?" the masked leader demanded once again.

Now Schultz wasn't the only one with nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. "My factory…" Holtzmann murmured, beginning to think he understood what was really going on here. "Surely he will understand… the air raid… that wasn't _my_ fault… what could _I_ have done to prevent it…?"

"I'm quite sure he'll _tell_ you."

Yes… that was very likely. Well, at least if he had an audience with the _Führer_ he might stand a chance of trying to explain… if he stayed here, it was certain he would eventually be found with a bullet in a critical part of his anatomy and a rubber stamp of 'suicide' would be put on the cover of his personnel file. Resignedly he nodded his head, still squeezing the briefcase. "This stays with me."

Why not, Hogan thought… they already had photographs of everything inside, but if it suited him to take it along, that was fine with him. "All right," he nodded. "But hurry up."

"Excuse me, Herr…" Schultz paused. "I… I _hope_ you will please excuse me, but I do not know your name… and let me be completely clear, I do not _want_ to know your name… I want to know _nothing… no-thing…_ but… I would like to ask you... what would you like _me_ to do?"

"Stay here for one hour and do not move!" Hogan snapped.

Finally, a job that perfectly suited his capabilities. Even under the dire circumstances, Schultz almost managed a smile. " _Jawohl!_ "

Holtzmann began to climb out of the back seat, but Hogan shook his head. "No, you stay there!" Then he turned to Schultz. _"_ You! Out of the car!"

In short order Schultz found himself standing in the middle of the Hammelburg Road all by himself, on a moonless night, facing the prospect of a long walk back to camp as soon as his mandated waiting period was up, the sound of the staff car's engine getting fainter and fainter as it disappeared around the bend, now driven by the commandos, with Holtzmann still in the back. In spite of his basic dislike of activity, Schultz was almost looking forward to the walk. It was what would come _after_ the walk, when he would have to figure out a way to explain to the Kommandant and to Major Hochstetter what had just happened, that he was really _not_ looking forward to.

It would give them more than an hour without Hochstetter's interference, Hogan calculated as the four of them plus Holtzmann drove into the night. That should be just about long enough to cook up an audience with the _Führer_ … their own home-made version, at least… to convince Holtzmann that his prospects for continuing his work for the Reich had been officially discontinued. Then it would be time to bring Marya back into the picture to dangle the carrot of a fully-funded research facility in England in front of him, and hope he would bite.

In the back seat, Newkirk was tying a blindfold over the scientist's eyes, to keep him from realizing that he was going right straight back into Stalag 13 for his meeting. It had at least a fifty percent chance of succeeding, and Hogan had played longer odds in his day. "Where _is_ the _Führer_?" Holtzmann inquired.

"Closer than you might think."


	7. Chapter 7

They parked Klink's staff car right next to Holtzmann's disabled Mercedes in the lay-by just down the road from the main gate of the camp, then led him the few hundred yards through the woods towards the tunnel entrance. It was slow going; not an easy walk in the first place for someone who wasn't used to moving through the woods in the dark, but particularly difficult with the necessity of the blindfold, plus the fact that Holtzmann was still clutching the briefcase as if it were a life preserver. Not a moment too soon, they came upon the tree trunk access point and managed to get Holtzmann down the ladder and into the tunnel.

Hogan, still masked although the others had by now shed theirs, remained directly behind Holtzmann with a pistol trained on his back and sent the other three men on ahead; as he and the scientist passed through the tunnel on the way to the specially-constructed set that awaited them, he called out a random password every few yards and either Kinch, LeBeau or Newkirk would reply with a loud _Heil Hitler_ and 'allow' them to pass. Good thing Holtzmann was still blindfolded; Newkirk accompanied his _heil_ with a roll of his eyes, LeBeau stuck out his tongue when it was his turn, and Kinch, the least-convincing Nazi imaginable, gave a smile and a friendly wave of his hand.

The boys that had been left behind in the barracks had done a creditable job of quickly preparing a section of the tunnel to resemble a temporary secret headquarters for a VIP. The telephone switchboard was on one wall, a desk and chair alongside, even a fully-stocked bar cart, and everything festooned with the swastika banners and other paraphernalia that one might expect to find in such a place.

Completing the scenario was Carter, in full _Führer_ regalia once more, hair severely parted on the side and swept across his forehead. He was just pressing his mustache firmly into place on his upper lip… talk about cutting it close. At a glance from Hogan best described as "ready or not, here we come", Carter's folksy Midwestern persona evaporated and he took on the intense, unbalanced stare of the Nazi dictator. This had worked before, more than once, and it had better work again, or they were all done for. If Carter had learned anything from his previous impersonations of Hitler, it was this: be _loud._ And he led with just exactly that.

"You're late!" he screamed at Hogan.

"Sincere apologies, _Mein Führer_." Hogan noticed that Holtzmann had swallowed hard at the sound of Carter's voice; hopefully he would find the rest of Carter just as impressive when he got the full effect. He removed his captive's blindfold with one sharp tug. "Herr Holtzmann, as you ordered."

"I ordered him over two hours ago!"

"Traffic," Hogan replied. _Okay, Carter, good job, but don't get hung up on the small stuff… just get the job done._

Holtzmann's mouth dropped open in awe at the sight of Carter, then he found his voice. "This is indeed a supreme honor, _Mein Führer…_ "

"Yes, I know!" Carter agreed readily.

"I would never have expected to find the _Führer_ in such…" Holtzmann risked a glance to one side and then the other. "… shall we say… inauspicious conditions?"

Maybe that was why Holtzmann didn't have any friends… he was actually pretty stupid and tactless when it came right down to it."The _Führer_ is not a frivolous man," Hogan said by way of explanation.

Holtzmann reached out a tentative hand to touch the earthen wall. "We are underground?"

Wasn't that as good a place as any to look for Hitler… under a rock? "I would not ask too many questions if I were you," Hogan warned. _Mostly because we don't have too many answers,_ he added silently to himself.

" _I_ will ask the questions!" Carter obligingly broke in, effectively disrupting any further comments Holtzmann might have been tempted to make on their surroundings. "And I have many questions about this factory of yours, Holtzmann… the one that is now an even bigger hole in the ground than this one!"

" _Jawohl,_ " Holtzmann was forced to admit. "But it is only a temporary setback."

Carter threw him off a bit by suddenly tempering his voice and turning conversational. "Oh? And how long before you will resume production after this 'temporary setback'?" he inquired calmly.

"Naturally, we will require generous financial support to rebuild…"

Carter nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, of course." He gestured to Holtzmann to step closer. "You. Here." Holtzmann took a step, and Carter motioned for him to take another, and then a third, until he was standing just inches away. "Now then… I have something to explain to you." He jacked the volume up again all the way to scream directly into the scientist's ear. "I am not made of Reichmarks, Holtzmann! _"_

"Of course not, _Mein Führer_ …"

"Look around you! You see your _Führer_ living in a gopher hole and you ask him for money? Do you know what happened to the _last_ man who did such a thing?"

Holtzmann's head shook back and forth very slowly, and his pointed chin trembled. "No…"

"Neither does anybody else! They are still looking for him! They will have to wait until they find all of the pieces and put them back together again, which I promise you will not be easy, in order to learn what happened to him!"

"We found a foot last week," Hogan put in helpfully.

"Well, _lose_ it again!" Carter shrieked.

"Yes, _Mein Führer_."

Carter had pulled in a fresh lungful of air and was about to send another blast of verbal abuse directly into Holtzmann's ear canal when the single bare bulb in the overhead fixture suddenly went out, then brightened, then dimmed again to almost total darkness. He glanced wordlessly at the colonel… this wasn't part of the plan. Hogan had no answers either, so he did what he always did: he winged it. "Looks like Martin Bormann forgot to pay the electric bill this month."

"You see?" Carter yelled at Holtzmann. "The Reich has no money to pay the bills! And we have not one _pfennig_ to rebuild your factory, for the Allies to destroy all over again!"

"We could perhaps rebuild in a more secure location, _Mein Führer_ …"

"No money for moving vans either!"

The light went out and flickered weakly back on again. "Excuse me one second," Hogan said, backing towards the doorway to the main tunnel. "I think I'd better go see if somebody kicked a plug out of the wall."

He knew that wasn't the problem. He didn't know what the problem _was,_ but their electrical circuit was perfectly sound and there was no reason for that light to behave that way unless someone was doing it on purpose. And, that's exactly what _had_ happened… Newkirk, Kinch and LeBeau were waiting for him as soon as he stepped outside and pulled off his mask. "Glad you got our message. Schultz is back," Kinch said quietly.

Hogan glanced at his watch. "He can't be! How'd that happen? We should have at least another twenty minutes!"

"The courier for the Hammelburg/Düsseldorf mail run found him out there and gave him a ride back to camp."

"Terrific. Now Hochstetter gets back into the game and we haven't even turned Holtzmann all the way around yet."

"Are we close?"

"Hard to say; the guy's pretty single-minded and so far he won't take 'no' for an answer, even when Carter's screaming 'no' as loud as anybody possibly could."

"I say we let the Russian bird see what she can do with him," Newkirk suggested. "Maybe _she_ can convince him."

"That would work on me," LeBeau nodded in agreement.

"We _know_ that… and we're sick of hearin' about it."

"And let's not forget about the radio detection truck," Kinch added. "Just since Schultz got back they've had it inside the camp, outside the camp, everywhere… the Gestapo might be onto us; they sure must think there's gonna be a signal out there to home in on."

Hogan tugged the black sack-like mask back over his head. "Okay, listen… I'll get Holtzmann out of there now and we'll put him on ice and get back upstairs, just in case Hochstetter comes nosing around the barracks to see if we're all snug in our beds. Is there anybody in the cooler?"

Kinch shook his head. "Nope. Either we're better behaved than usual or Klink's losing his grip… there hasn't been anybody there in more than a week."

"Well, now there will be. Stick Holtzmann in the solitary confinement cell… blindfold, tied to a chair, the whole nine yards. Maybe that'll convince him that Hitler's not gonna change his mind about the bankroll. If we play our cards right... _and_ if Marya actually knows what she's talking about... he should be happy just to get out of this with his skin intact and he won't really care which side he's working for."

"You think he'll go quietly?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan nodded. "Sure. Watch."

He re-entered the ' _Führer's_ office' not a moment too soon: Holtzmann was talking a mile a minute to Carter, who seemed to have completely forgotten that he was supposed to be reacting with typical Hitler-esque impatience and anger and was instead listening very intently to the scientist's passionate description of synthetic diamonds as thermoconductors in sophisticated modern explosives. You could say one thing for Holtzmann; he did know how to turn on the juice when it really mattered. Before Carter had the chance to completely forget himself and pull out his own checkbook, though, Hogan stepped in and took over the conversation. "Forgive me, _Mein Führer,_ we have taken up too much of your time."

"Oh, no problem. Actually, it's been really interesting."

That didn't sound a bit like Hitler, but Holtzmann was holding forth so vigorously that there was little chance he would even notice. "We will leave you to consider more important matters. Perhaps Herr Holtzmann would join you in a drink before he departs?"

" _Oh_ …" Carter nodded as he suddenly remembered where this was all supposed to end up, according to the original plan. "Oh, _ja… vere_ are my manners?" At least the accent was back… he stepped over to the drinks cart and poured two small glasses of schnapps, then handed one to Holtzmann. "One for ze road, Holtzmann? No hard feelings, I hope?"

At the rate things were falling apart, Hogan wouldn't have been too surprised to hear Holtzmann say that he didn't drink. Fortunately, that wasn't the case. He downed the schnapps in one swallow, while Carter merely mimed taking a sip from his own glass. Before the scientist could utter another syllable, he made a quarter-turn on his heel as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

As the other three men entered to help transfer Holtzmann to the cooler, Hogan glanced at Newkirk. "Is he quiet enough for you?"

"No complaints." The British corporal bent to get an arm around the limp man so he could help Kinch hoist him up far enough between them to could start the trek to the cooler. "That's the king of all mickeys. Make sure you jot that recipe down, Carter; we'll likely need it again sometime."

Carter snapped a quick ' _heil'. "Jawohl._ "

"Oh, you're clever, you are."

Carter grinned. "Sorry…I kinda get into it."

"You method actors." For the last time, Hogan pulled the black mask off. Holtzmann was way past being able to recognize his own mother at this point.


	8. Chapter 8

In Colonel Klink's office, a panicked Schultz's detailed description of the kidnapping of Gustav Holtzmann was one hundred percent accurate in every minute aspect… if the kidnapping had been committed by ten men with grenade launchers. Major Hochstetter wasn't sure whether or not to take him at his word, but at least _this_ time there was a witness to the abduction. And he certainly _hoped_ there were that many commandos out there for him to apprehend. He could imagine his stock going up with Heinrich Himmler with every additional hyperbole Schultz threw into his narrative.

"And you are certain that the kidnappers said they were bringing Holtzmann to the _Führer_ , Schultz?"

Schultz nodded so hard his features were momentarily blurred. " _Ja, Herr Major!_ I am _absolutely_ certain!"

"The _Führer_ could not possibly be anywhere near Stalag 13 without my knowledge," Klink stated unequivocally.

"Ah, so the _Führer_ checks in with you regularly, does he?" Hochstetter challenged. "He makes his travel plans only with your approval, _ja_?" Before Klink could think up a reply to that completely rhetorical question, he continued. "The _Führer_ is in Berchtesgaden; I have already confirmed that with his personal aides. That is at least an eight-hour trip by car."

"They may have come by plane," Klink offered helpfully.

"Thank you…" Hochstetter growled. "I would never have thought of that possibility."

"You're entirely welcome," Klink smiled ingratiatingly.

"I have _also_ confirmed that he did not summon Holtzmann; what do you have to say to _that,_ Klink?"

The Kommandant had once again drawn one of his frequent blanks; he stood silently and awkwardly by for a few seconds. "Well… I… uh…"

" _I_ say that this entire kidnapping was a farce!"

"You mean they _lied?_ " Schultz asked, sounding sincerely astonished.

" _Ja,_ they lied."

Schultz gave a disapproving shake of his head. "You cannot depend on _anybody_ these days."

"Holtzmann obviously engaged some of his own workers to stage this so-called 'abduction' so he could escape being delivered into my custody! He knows something about the destruction of his factory and the disappearance of the Russian woman that he does not want me to discover! He could be a saboteur, a traitor, a spy!"

"You really think he would go to all that trouble?" Klink inquired.

Hochstetter leaned closer until he could practically read the hallmark stamped on the narrow silver rim of the Kommandant's monocle. "Tell me, Klink: how much trouble would _you_ go to in order to avoid rigorous interrogation by the Gestapo?"

"Now that you put it that way…" Klink quivered, suddenly seeing the situation in a whole new light, "you may be right…"

"I have surrounded this entire area with a ring of steel! The Gestapo is in charge of everything outside the wire! I will tolerate no interference from you, Klink! There will be sentries! Roadblocks! I will find those 'kidnappers' and bring them _and_ Holtzmann in for questioning! They will not escape! If they cannot be taken alive they _and_ Holtzmann will be shot on sight!"

Hogan and his men crowded around the coffeepot listening device, monitoring every word that was being said… or screamed. "Shot on sight," Hogan mused. "Marya told us he was unpopular, but that's kind of taking it to a whole new level."

"Lucky for Holtzmann he's not _on_ any of those roads," said Kinch.

"Safe in the cooler," Newkirk nodded. "Like a babe in his mum's arms."

"Yeah, but for how long? Hochstetter might be focusing outside the wire now, but sooner or later he's liable to start looking around _inside,_ where there's more stuff to find." Hogan thought for a few moments. "All right, let's leave Holtzmann right where he is until tomorrow after roll call. Let him sweat it out overnight. By then maybe he'll be more ready to see things our way… well, the way Marya's going to explain it to him at any rate. Hit the sack, fellas. We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

oo 0 oo

 _Once again, Hogan found himself at the Aragon Ballroom. Spike Jones and his City Slickers played_ Cocktails for Two.

 _It was impossible to dance to that, but it didn't matter in the least. He sat with his elbows on the table, chin resting on his cupped hands, restlessly tapping his cheek, completely resigned to the fact that there was no way this was going to get any better._

 _Directly across from him, kneeling on her chair so she could reach the table, Shirley Temple took a long pull on the straw in her milkshake. After sucking up the last few drops, she giggled at the loud, wet, hollow sound the rushing air made in the bottom of her glass. Interestingly, Hogan mused, that was about the only ridiculous noise Jones hadn't managed to work into his arrangement of the song his band was playing._

 _He raised his hand to signal LeBeau, approaching their table not a moment too soon. "Check, please."_

"Don't ask," Hogan warned the French corporal as he responded to the wake-up call and began to get out of his bunk. "Just _don't ask._ "

oo 0 oo

It might not have come as much of a comfort to Hogan, but there _was_ someone who'd passed a night worse than his. Gustav Holtzmann was exactly where they'd left him the night before, tied to a straight-back chair in the middle of the solitary-confinement cell in the otherwise vacant cooler. He appeared to be dozing behind the blindfold, but his head snapped up when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the concrete floor. "Who's there?" he called out, sounding as if he were more afraid of the answer than of anything that had already happened to him thus far.

Hogan nodded to Marya to go ahead. After a brief 'must I?' gesture, she wrapped her long fingers around the bars, the outsized diamond still sparkling on the fourth finger of her left hand, and rested her chin against her curled thumbs. "Guess," was the single breathy word she chose to lead with.

For perhaps the first time, Holtzmann realized he was genuinely happy to know she was there. "Marya! Where is this place? What are you doing here? How did…"

"Enough!" she cut him off abruptly.

It might have been a good time to turn on the charm, rather than hit him with a bucket of cold water, Hogan mused. But he decided to keep out of it. Somehow, the Russian seemed to get the results she wanted even if she didn't use a method he might have chosen for himself.

"I saw the _Führer,_ Marya _…_ " Holtzmann breathed, sounding awe-struck even this many hours later. "He was mesmerizing. The power… the presence…"

"I know, I know," she nodded. "I had dinner with him last night. He is quite charming. He tells amusing stories. He told me one about you, Gussie."

Holtzmann brightened. "What did he say?"

"He said that he would have you shot for being so inept. I'm surprised you are still here; Adolf must be sleeping late this morning."

"What is amusing about that?" he demanded.

Marya shrugged an indifferent shoulder. "It got _me_ to laugh." Before he could think of a response, she continued. "Listen to me, Gussie. I am sure he means it. Your only hope is to leave the country immediately."

"Where would I go?"

"England."

"I am a loyal German!" he bristled.

"So what, they promise to shoot you with a Luger and not with import?"

"My work is vital to the war effort! I must rebuild my factory!"

"Please; Hitler will give you not a single Mark for more research. He now intends to focus again on the old methods of waging war."

"How would you know that?"

She gave a low, sultry laugh. "We had several cocktails after an excellent dinner… he boasted that he took Poland and France with just tanks and planes and he will do the same thing on the current front. He does not need your formula to win the war."

"Then he is a fool!"

"I would lower my voice if I were you, Gussie… he may be a fool but he is in the next room. And he has… how you say… hangover."

Could it be true? Holtzmann himself had had more than his share of Marya's cocktails… yes, the thought pained him, but he had to admit that it was entirely possible that a few of her special after-dinner drinks could have loosened even the _Führer's_ tongue to the point where he might tell her just about anything she wanted to know. He might be regretting it this morning, but that wouldn't change whatever had happened last night. "Then I am a dead man…" he groaned.

"Not if you escape to England, Gussie. There the Allies would give you the money you need to continue your work."

"How could you possibly know all of this, Marya? Have you managed to ply the entire Allied High Command with your cocktails in addition to the _Abwehr_? That would be a challenge even for you!"

" _Trust_ me," she smiled.

Those words spelled nothing but his doom. But Holtzmann was beginning to accept that his back was up against the wall… and that wall might already have a bunch of bullet holes in it from those who had displeased the _Führer_ before now. It was against his better judgment, but it was beginning to look like Marya might well be his only hope of not only resuming his life's work, but of simply escaping this war with his skin intact. Both those things mattered to him a great deal, in almost equal measure. "Even if I wanted to go to England, it would be impossible. There would be a price on my head."

"Leave the details to me."

"Why do you even want to help me?"

"The first time we met, in Berlin. You… amused me."

Right about now Holtzmann was regretting not having headed straight for the door when the tall exotic woman in the leopard-skin coat had batted her heavy lashes in his direction and beckoned to him for a light for her cigarette. He had long ago figured out that it had been no chance meeting; she had obviously known exactly who he was and what he was working on, and she had arrived at that soiree already determined to use him and his work for her own purposes. But he had fallen for it, and now he would have to suffer the consequences. It was little comfort for him to know that he would never allow himself to be tricked like this again, because it stood to reason that there was no one else out there to equal Marya. He was hardly likely to run up against the likes of her twice in one lifetime. Nobody was _that_ unlucky.

"And if I refuse?"

"You have other choice? Live in England or die in Germany, Gussie. I can accept either when it comes to you. Which do _you_ prefer?"

Holtzmann hung his head in defeat. "Make the arrangements. Can whatever happens possibly be worse than this?"

"You will _love_ England. The weather they tell me is dark and gloomy always, exactly like you are. You will not be sorry."

He already was, about a lot of things, but it was too late to take any of it back.

Marya struck a pose for Hogan to indicate that her part of the operation was finished, and he obliged her with a couple of silent claps of his hands. Then the two of them exited the cooler and went back down into the tunnel, leaving Holtzmann to wait for the next step in what was becoming a more and more complicated plan by the hour. They had his cooperation. Now all they needed was an airplane. Small potatoes, right?

Never one for false modesty, once they were safely down in the tunnel Marya turned to Hogan. "No praise?"

"Maybe later."

"But I have put Gussie and his diamond manufacturing process right into your pocket!"

"Boy, you really lie like a rug… all that stuff about having dinner with Hitler; you almost had _me_ buying it."

"How can you be so sure that I have _not_ had dinner with Hitler?" she challenged smoothly.

"Oh, come on. Next you'll be trying to tell me you're best friends with Stalin."

"Stalin? But I know him very well. A pussycat!"

Hogan nodded unconvincingly. "Sure. Right."

"But I _do._ How tragic that you _still_ do not trust me."

"Oh, I trust you all right. I trust you to sell me and my boys out in a heartbeat if things start going bad."

" _Never!_ Particularly not my small one."

"Him too! You'd sell out your mother to save your own neck."

Her mother, no. That had never been necessary. But there were one or two first cousins who had been relocated to a remote area in the Siberian steppe where they would remain safely out of her hair for the rest of the war… and probably for the next war as well. Somewhat regrettable. But it didn't keep her up nights. How charming that Hogan had sensed that… she was becoming more and more convinced, every time she worked with the handsome American, that they were destined to be together.

"You may be right," was all she was willing to say.

This Hogan was indeed fascinating. He knew her inside and out, and he never hesitated to call her on the less conventionally attractive aspects of her character. He understood her. So few men ever had. Certainly not Gussie, who would never understand anything unless it was written out for him on a blackboard in endless rows of figures and formulas. Marya had used her smoldering sex appeal on countless enemy agents during this war, but not one of them had half of Hogan's incisive intelligence. He saw her coming a mile away, and rather strangely she adored him for it instead of being annoyed by it. That conundrum had always intrigued her. It was entirely unique to Hogan.

Hogan realized, not for the first time, that being right wasn't always all that satisfying. Hadn't Marya just basically agreed that she would be happy to sell him and his whole unit up the river if it suited her purposes? "Someday I'm gonna learn to keep my big mouth shut."


	9. Chapter 9

Per Major Hochstetter's announcement at morning roll call, the prisoners were confined to barracks and expressly forbidden to look out any doors or windows. Naturally, Hogan's men had obliged, and they were instead taking turns at the rain-barrel periscope. Nobody could accuse them of not following orders.

Kinch in particular had been keeping a sharp eye on the radio detection truck with its spinning antenna which was again parked just outside Klink's office. "If that thing goes around any faster, that rig could take off," he remarked.

"Let's hope it does," Newkirk nodded. "That'd solve a few of our problems all right."

"I don't think we can count on it," Hogan said.

"At least we got Holtzmann to come over to our side," Carter said.

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna do us any good unless we can get him _all_ the way over… like to England. Beforehe changes his mind."

"You think it's possible he might decide to back out?" Kinch asked.

Hogan shrugged. "I don't like to count on anything until it's in the bag, and as long as Holtzmann's still in Germany, I wouldn't bet against it. A delay could give him too much time to think. We need to get in touch with London and get them to send a plane pronto."

"I don't see how, with that radio truck right there just waiting to pick up our signal."

Hogan started to pace. Sometimes that helped. Unfortunately, there was one other reality that he hadn't yet shared with the rest of the men. If it were impossible to get Holtzmann safely out of Germany, it was entirely likely that they would have to find another way to ensure that he would never be able to recreate his diamond manufacturing process for the benefit of the Nazis. He never liked to resort to that kind of last-ditch solution, but it had happened before and although it was unpleasant, sometimes it was necessary. And as much as permanently eliminating Holtzmann was unappealing on a personal level, the loss of his assistance to the Allied war effort would be incalculable. "There must be a way around that truck."

"We could blow it up," Carter piped up. Of course, that would be Carter's suggestion. Carter would suggest a dynamite charge to fix a clogged rain gutter.

"With all them Krauts standin' about guardin' the bleedin' thing?" Newkirk challenged. "Good luck to you."

"What about a diversion?" Kinch asked.

That was more like it. "How long would you need to get the message through to London?" Hogan asked.

"I'm not sure. Depends on how fast the Krauts pick up the signal and how fast I can give London all the details they'll need to put the plane down when and where we want it. They won't be able to call us back to ask for more information; I've gotta get it all through on the first try."

"Give me an estimate."

"Two minutes minimum. Three or four would be better."

That sounded like no time at all, until one considered how little time Hochstetter and his radio truck would need to pick up the outgoing signal and triangulate its exact location. It would feel like hours, not minutes, for Kinch to keep the connection open long enough to get their request through to Allied headquarters. Then out would come the shovels, and the Gestapo would start to dig. And then everyone associated with the Stalag 13 escape and sabotage operation would be out of a job, the hard way.

Hogan shook his head. "Can't happen. We're in close quarters. It wouldn't take them half that long to zero in on the location of the radio room. And don't forget about the portable version they've got in Klink's office; we'd have to take them both out at the same time. We're talking about two simultaneous diversions, both involving heavily-guarded equipment."

"And heavily-armed Gestapo," Newkirk reminded them all, just in case they'd forgotten… which nobody had. "Somehow I just don't see that endin' well."

Neither did Hogan. If there was one thing he was learning in this command, it was that oftentimes simple was best. The more complicated an assignment got, the more intricate the plan also had to be, and the more places something could go horribly wrong. Too many variables. Too many moving parts. Too many chances for error. Too many...

Hogan snapped his fingers. "I've got it."

oo 0 oo

Every radio they could get their hands on, and they soon discovered they could get their hands on quite a few, was soon collected and brought together in the tunnel. The haul included several cheap transistor radios, a couple of beat-up but functional walkie-talkies, and a small two-way set they'd swiped out of the local _Hofbrau_ in case they ever ended up needing some spare parts for their main rig, all in perfect working order. Even the radio that had originally been in the dashboard of Gustav Holtzmann's Mercedes was pressed into service and connected to a small battery so it could be used independently.

Hogan surveyed the assortment with satisfaction. "This oughta light up their detector unit like a Christmas tree when we turn 'em all on at the same time."

"And all in different places," Carter nodded eagerly. "This is a great idea, Colonel."

"Are you sure their detectors can detect _any_ radio?" LeBeau asked.

"That's what Hochstetter said. And he's never lied to us." At any rate, one way or another, they were about to find out. "Okay, time to put Operation Radio City into action. You guys all know what to do."

oo 0 oo

One minute there was nothing, exactly where there had been nothing for the past couple of days. Just the faint hum of the rotor on top of the truck as the endlessly twirling antenna failed, consistently, to pick up so much as the tiniest crackle that might indicate the presence of a contraband radio somewhere in the environs of Stalag 13.

Then came the ear-piercing squeal indicating that a signal had been detected. The radio specialist crouching inside the unheated truck, who hadn't been able to feel his fingers or toes for hours in the biting cold, had all he could do to leap to his feet and stagger to the front of the cab so he could yell out the window. " _Herr Major!"_

Inside Klink's office, Major Hochstetter heard the call at the exact same moment that the portable detector device on Klink's sideboard had also begun to squeal. "I knew it!" he exclaimed. "I _knew_ it! We have them!"

Klink's heart fell straight down into his boots. After all his proud boasting that the Gestapo would never find a contraband radio anywhere in his camp, now they had. What that meant to his career, he could easily guess. He would finish up hip-deep in a snowdrift west of Minsk squinting through a heavily-frosted monocle. The only question was whether that would be at the end of this week, or the beginning of next.

Adding insult to injury, Hochstetter turned on him. "What do you have to say to _that_ , Herr Kommandant?"

"Um…"

"I will deal with you later!" The major grabbed his hat and gloves and barreled towards the door, making a beeline for the truck in the compound.

Yes. Klink believed he meant that. He tried to pour himself a glass of schnapps, but found his hand too unsteady to do it successfully. No matter. He already felt as numb as he was likely to get, with or without the fortification of alcohol. Instead he sunk into his desk chair and stared morosely at the portable detection unit, still whistling away like a traffic cop, and picked up a pen. His handwriting was a jumbled mess under the circumstances, but he was certain it would be legible enough to serve its purpose.

' _I, Wilhelm Klink, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this document my last will and testament…'_

 _oo 0 oo_

Hochstetter leaped into the back of the radio detection truck and focused on the circular radar scope. The small bright-green blip towards the left outer rim of the screen was obvious. "There it is!" he bellowed triumphantly. "Where is that exact location?"

The system operator checked the coordinates one more time to be certain. "Due west of the camp, at sixty yards from the perimeter fence, from guard tower number three."

"Send all available men to that position!"

The operator was about to acknowledge the order with his customary " _jawohl_ ". But then, something strange happened. The blip he had just reported was still there… but ninety yards to the north, another one had suddenly appeared. "I… I do not understand…"

"What do you mean you do not understand? I gave you a direct order!"

"Yes, but… _look,_ Herr Major. There is _another_ radio."

" _What?_ " Hochstetter's eye had no sooner fallen on the second blip when a third, then a fourth lit up the screen. "What is the meaning of this?"

oo 0 oo

The area around Stalag 13 was alive with two things: radios and sprinting prisoners. One by one, the portable devices were turned on and dropped at their predetermined locations, then the man who had left it there double-timed it through the trees towards his next assigned drop point. Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau had four each to place, in as wide an arc as possible, before returning to the safety of the tunnel. Speed was of the essence; they well knew that in very short order they would have a whole lot of company out in the woods and they definitely wanted to get the job done before things got too hot. So far, Operation Radio City was working perfectly, exactly as the colonel had envisioned.

Crouched behind the cover of some brush, Newkirk flipped on his walkie-talkie. "Rockette One to Backstage, you readin' me?"

"Backstage to Rockette One, loud and clear," Hogan confirmed from the tunnel via a matching two-way radio. "How many have you set already?"

"I got just this one here yet to leave."

"Roger, set it and then head back here as fast as you can."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"Backstage to Rockette Two, come in," Hogan called next.

"Rockette Two, I read you," Carter joined the conversation. "I've got three in position and one to go."

"Roger."

" _Ici_ Rockette Three," LeBeau's voice chimed in. "I'm on my way back now. All in position."

Hogan nodded to Kinch. "Okay, Kinch, go ahead and fire up the radio; ask London to send a plane for Holtzmann, top priority, at the usual rendez-vous point. I think you've got the three or four minutes you wanted, but don't start any long conversations. When the surprise wears off and the goons start thinking clearly, it won't take them long to figure out what's going on and realize _this_ is the _real_ radio, and it's _inside_ the wire."

"Right, Colonel."

"Oh… and you better ask London to send us some more walkie-talkies while they're at it. I get the feeling I'm gonna be talking to myself until we re-stock." Hogan switched off their one remaining two-way radio and set it aside.

Now it was all over but the yelling. Major Hochstetter would be handling that part.


	10. Chapter 10

An even dozen portable radios of various description were heaped on Klink's desk. Some of them probably still worked. Others had been stomped on, kicked, or peppered with bullets by the frustrated soldiers who had been sent out to retrieve them, believing they would be uncovering a nest of spies but finding only an out-of-date transistor radio spouting staticky dance hall music or the latest siren song of Berlin Betty. The radar screen in the detection truck was now clear and dark, and all the audio alert signals had stopped. Klink's hastily-scribbled will was in his top desk drawer. He had originally intended to put it into the safe, but in his flurry of panic had completely forgotten the combination.

Next to his desk, Major Hochstetter paced in silence. That was bad. But from experience, Klink was sure the Gestapo officer's silence was eventually going to give way to screams of rage, and that would be far worse. Best to try and appreciate the silence while it lasted.

"Not _one_ radio…" Hochstetter began. Obviously the silent phase was at an end. "Not _two_ radios… _twelve_ radios, Klink!"

Klink nodded slowly, automatically, knowing some acknowledgement was expected of him. "Yes… twelve radios…"

"And most of them manufactured in either the United States or England!"

"Yes…"

"What is your explanation for that, Klink?"

An explanation was impossible. There was no reason that made any sense at all for all those radios to be out in the woods surrounding his camp. Hochstetter knew that. This outrage on top of his continued inability to locate Gustav Holtzmann was making him very angry… and in this time and place in the world there was nothing more dangerous than an angry Gestapo officer. Klink had taken the breath with which he intended to admit that he had no explanation to offer when the door to his office opened and Hogan entered. Klink had rarely been so happy to see anyone in his life.

Not so, Hochstetter. "What is _this_ man doing here?" he demanded at top volume.

Klink said the first thing that popped into his head. "Hogan, you're confined to the barracks… come in." Why not? They could only send him to the Russian Front once; whatever else Klink did now, he could do without fear of additional punishment. And in spite of the fact that he and the American officer were on opposite sides of this conflict and really didn't like each other much, Klink would have chosen Hogan's company over Hochstetter's any day of any week.

Hogan approached the desk heaped with mutilated electronics. "Wow… looks like the after-Christmas clearance sale at Radio Shack," he chuckled. "Hey, you finally found some; congratulations. Where were they?"

"In the woods surrounding this camp!" Hochstetter fired back.

"So that gizmo out in the compound actually works, huh? Too bad you can't set it on Russian Woman; maybe you could turn up that lady you lost."

Hochstetter took a step forward. "Hogan, I am warning you…"

"Sorry sir." Hogan demurely lowered his gaze towards the floor. "Bad taste."

"As long as you are here, you may wish to take leave of your beloved kommandant."

Hogan turned to Klink. "You off on vacation, sir? Someplace nice, I hope."

"Hardly…" Klink managed, barely audibly.

"I'm sure the Kommandant would welcome some farewell gifts," Hochstetter went on. "How fast can you and your men knit mittens? One pair will be all he will need; he won't last long enough on the Eastern Front to wear them out."

Hogan mentally put his actor hat on, which had been the idea ever since he'd strode boldly across the compound and let himself in without knocking. "Hold on, Major, you don't mean to say you're blaming this on Colonel Klink?"

"I most certainly am."

"But you just told me you found all these radios in the woods."

" _Ja,_ that is what I said."

"How many did you find _inside_ the wire?"

"None, but…"

Hogan gave a low whistle and shook his head. "Well, okay, but… I can't believe you'd want to risk it."

"Risk what?"

"It's just that the Kommandant is responsible for what happens inside the camp… right?"

" _And_ for security _outside_ the camp!"

"That's true, most of the time, but… _your_ men took over patrolling the area around the camp when you arrived at your order, isn't that right?"

For the first time that afternoon, Klink suddenly envisioned a glimmer of hope, instead of a glimmer of moonlight over endless fields of deep new snow. "That's _right…_ " he realized. "They _did…"_

"So, I'd say it stands to reason that _you're_ actually the guy responsible for anything in those woods that shouldn't be there. But if you want to go blabbing that all over Berlin, plus the fact that you still haven't found the Russian woman and it kinda looks like you might've lost Holtzmann too, I guess you must know what you're doing." For once, Hochstetter had no response at the ready. "What size mitten do _you_ wear, Major?"

The entire building shook when Hochstetter slammed the office door behind him, and Hogan would not have been surprised to see a few shingles slide off the roof along with a brick or two from the chimney. "It was a simple question… can't see why he got so mad about it."

Reprieved. The Russian Front wasn't going to be seeing him anytime soon after all. "Oh, Hogan…" Klink sighed with the ultimate relief. "I don't think you have any idea what just happened here."

"I hope I haven't caused any trouble for you, sir."

Klink shook his head, nearly lost for words. "Not at all…"

"Good. Guess I'd better be getting back to the barracks." When the Kommandant didn't object, or say anything else at all for that matter, Hogan let himself out with a bit of a self-satisfied smile on his face.

As soon as Klink had his wits about him again, more or less, he picked up his desk phone. "Fraulein Hilda, inform the mess hall that I am authorizing one additional slice of white bread per prisoner for the rest of the week." It was a rare magnanimous gesture on his part… usually Hogan had to harass, cajole or otherwise instigate any additional rations. It might never happen again. But just this once, what harm could it do?

The next thing Klink did was reach into his top desk drawer and remove his hastily-penned final charge, then with the other hand reached for his lighter. He pressed the button to ignite the flame and touched it to a lower corner of the document, setting it alight. Thanks to Hogan, he wouldn't be needing it.

oo 0 oo

Back in the solitary confinement cell, Holtzmann had been looking forward to having both his bonds and his blindfold removed, until the moment when it actually happened. The first thing he saw when his vision cleared was Marya… and she was inexplicably standing next to an American officer whose face he recognized in another couple of moments. "But… you are from the prison camp…"

"That's right," Hogan nodded.

"How did you get out?"

"I didn't… _you_ got _in_."

"I don't understand."

"It's probably better that way. All you really need to know is that a plane will be here tonight to pick you up and take you to England."

" _Here?_ "

"Did I not tell you, Gussie, that you would love it at Stalag 13?" Marya asked.

"You had this planned… _all_ of it… planned from the moment we left Hammelburg!"

"Actually for longer than that, but what do a few small details matter? You are soon on your way to England to continue your work, this time for the Allies."

The scientist suddenly didn't look too happy about that, and that concerned Hogan for a moment. "And you?" Holtzmann asked Marya.

"I will of course remain here in Germany."

Holtzmann turned to Hogan. "All right," he nodded. "Get me out of here. _Quickly._ Just make sure _she_ doesn't follow me!"

Hogan had to admit, he knew the feeling. But there was no chance Marya would want to trail Holtzmann to England; she had been offered safe passage once before after one of her schemes had nearly backfired on her, and she had refused without even seriously thinking it over. Marya was in it for the duration. Sitting out the rest of the war in England wouldn't appeal to her in the least. She might one day bite off more than she could chew and end up facing the consequences, but for her that would be infinitely preferable than dying of boredom in England. She was no hothouse orchid; she was more like those tenacious bits of grass that pushed their way up through cracks in the pavement and almost seemed to enjoy the daily challenge that simply staying alive provided. Frustrating she certainly could be, but there were some aspects of her personality that Hogan admired. The trick would be never to let on to her that he felt that way.

He turned to Marya. "Okay, hand it over."

"What?"

"How about giving him his salesman's sample back? The Allies are going to want to examine the diamond along with the formula."

She considered protesting just for show, but it really didn't matter to her one way or the other. She pulled the ring off her finger and tossed it to Holtzmann with indifference; he on the other hand nearly fell off the chair he was still tied to in order to catch it and then clutched it gratefully, almost reverently. "Satisfied?" she asked Hogan.

"Ask me again after the plane takes off."

oo 0 oo

The Stalag 13 crew had been overdue for something to go off without a hitch, and they got their due at the makeshift airfield a half-mile from camp the next night, when under cover of a moonless sky they ferried Holtzmann, his briefcase and his diamond out to meet the small transport that arrived to meet him. The wheels barely had time to stop turning: the plane touched down in the open field, Holtzmann was ushered onboard, and it took off again before attracting any unwanted attention.

That was only the first of two departures from the Hammelburg woods that night. Now it was Marya's turn. She had again changed clothes, this time exchanging the borrowed fatigues for more conventional female attire that they had in their stockpile of disguises, and with the customary fur coat over it she looked exactly as she always had. "Till we meet again, Hogan darling," she purred.

He handed her the keys to Holtzmann's car. "Kinch put it back together for you… well, all except for the radio; that's a write-off. You've got enough fuel to get you to Düsseldorf at least, and I'm sure you'll manage from there."

"But of course." She puckered up hopefully, but as expected Hogan didn't appear inclined to follow her not-so-subtle suggestion.

"Um… yeah. So you'd better get going; the more ground you can cover before dawn, the better for both of us."

"Please… I beg of you… do not tell me goodbye."

He nodded agreeably. "Okay. See ya."

She smiled. "Resist me as long as you can, Hogan darling. It will make the moment when you finally surrender to me all that much more passionate."

Say what you would about her, that woman knew how to make an exit.

oo 0 oo

Hogan and his men arrived back at camp in time to catch a couple hours of sleep before morning roll call. "Another one for the scrapbook," Kinch summed up as they filed into the radio room.

"You think Hochstetter will be back?" Carter asked.

"Probably," Hogan nodded. "He's still looking for Holtzmann and Marya. But I don't think he's gonna find 'em."

"Well, I hope he takes his time about poppin' back 'round," Newkirk put in. "I've seen enough of his ugly mug to last me 'til the end of the war."

"I'll bet Klink feels the same way." Hogan gestured to the pine board lined with mousetrap clips that Carter used for film developing, which was hanging from a nail above the radio. "Put that back in the darkroom before you hit the sack, Carter. A tidy tunnel is a happy tunnel."

Carter looked perplexed. "I didn't leave that there, sir." But he went to remove it from the hook anyway. "Hey, there's a note on it. That's not mine either."

Hogan reached to take the board from Carter. There was indeed a note, written on the bottom of a sheet of graph paper covered with typewritten text and copious cursive notes in the margin. "This looks like part of Holtzmann's formula."

"Well, what's it doin' here?" Newkirk asked. "We put the photographs LeBeau made of the formula on the plane with Holtzmann to get 'em back to London."

The handwritten note at the bottom, inscribed in a flowing feminine scrawl that Hogan recognized immediately, told the full story. "You will be needing this, I am sure," he read out loud. "I removed it from Gussie's briefcase at the Hausnerhof… let us call it insurance… Marya."

"Well, what is it?" Carter asked.

Hogan was almost irritated enough to crumple it up in his fist. "It's the last page of Holtzmann's formula!"

"But I photographed the whole thing!" LeBeau protested. "Everything that was in the briefcase! All twenty pages!"

Hogan pointed to the number in the top right-hand corner. "This says _twenty-one._ So she was holding out on us! How do you feel about _that_?"

LeBeau barely missed a beat. "I'm sure she had a good reason."

And there was more. Paperclipped to the previously missing final page of the coveted diamond formula was a somewhat faded photo, the blacks and whites all gone various shades of sepia brown. Stalin's stony face was unmistakable. And right beside him, wearing a revealing low-cut black dress and holding up a glass of champagne, smiling at him with _that_ smile…

Hogan was certain his eyes were deceiving him. "I don't believe it. _Marya._ She _does_ know Stalin!"

It might have been the first full truth the Russian had ever told him.

oo 0 oo

 _The Aragon Ballroom. Glenn Miller's orchestra played_ At Last.

 _And 'at last' was exactly how Hogan was feeling just then. At last, everything was back to normal. There was a very enticing coterie of starlets in the ballroom tonight, just waiting for him to take his pick. Rita Hayworth was just a few steps to his left, and no sign of Orson Welles. On his right, Constance Bennett, Rosalind Russell, and Irene Dunn were plucking fresh glasses of champagne from the tray a waiter held out to them. And over there were Katharine Hepburn, Jean Arthur… this was like being a kid in a candy store. It was about time._

 _"Aren't you going to ask me to dance?"_

 _That voice. Hogan turned, knowing what he was going to see before he even got there. Marya. She looked great, in that same slinky black dress she'd been wearing in the Stalin photo, but she was still Marya._

 _He shook his head. "Forget it. Not a chance."_

 _"You are angry about the formula?" she pouted._

 _"Why wouldn't I be? You took the last page out of Holtzmann's briefcase when you_ _knew_ _we were gonna be taking pictures of it. You_ _invited_ _us to take pictures of it!"_

 _"True," she nodded. "But how else would I have been assured that you would agree to help me get Gussie out of Germany?"_

 _"You coulda_ _asked_ _!"_

 _"I shall remember that next time."_

 _"Who says there's even gonna_ _be_ _a next time? Maybe I'll get Klink to transfer me to another camp as a hardship case… maybe I won't even_ _be_ _at Stalag 13 the next time you drag one of your Nazi boyfriends in the front gate with another screwy plan you want my help on!"_

 _"But we work so_ _well_ _together!"_

 _"What would you consider a snafu? We had to steal the formula, then kidnap you, we had Hochstetter breathing down our necks with his radio truck, we had to convince Holtzmann to swap sides and go to England,_ _and_ _kidnap_ _him_ _too…"_

 _"And everything turned out beautifully!"_

 _"And what about you and_ _Stalin_ _?"_

 _She shrugged. "Just friends."_

 _"You're nuts, you know that? And you can't be trusted. And you pop up outta nowhere. And…"_

 _"And…" She paused for effect. "You_ _adore_ _me for it."_

 _Miller's orchestra still played. The dance floor was still open. Hogan glanced around. For once, LeBeau was nowhere in sight. So he still had one decision to make. "If you tell anybody about this…"_

 _She touched a finger to her lips, then to his. "It will be our little secret."_

 _Well... she was here, and she wouldn't allow him any peace until he gave in. And… she_ did _look good in that slinky black dress. Hogan took Marya in his arms and they began to dance._

 _At last._

 _The End_

Author's note: Dedicated to my favorite World War II veteran, my father. Thanks for watching so much TV with me, Dad!


End file.
